


Stars Fell, from Your Eyes

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Ambiguous/Open Ending, American AU, Angst, Blow Jobs, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Eyeliner, Gay Sex, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hot Chocolate, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kid!Mordred, Kissing, M/M, Modern Era, Moonshine, Orchard, Past Character Death, Peaches - Freeform, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Scars, Shotgunning, Skinny Dipping, Star Gazing, Summer, Supernatural Elements, bartending, secret locations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: The air here is heavy, sticky, and much too hot to be normal. It is unlike anything Arthur is used to, most of which comes from the fact that yesterday had been a cool but pleasant day. Now though, he cuts his hand through the air, like it is suddenly a semi-solid force he can move with his hands. His skin burns with the salt of his sweat, and he can feel his face tightening under the the heat left from the earlier sun.





	Stars Fell, from Your Eyes

The air here is heavy, sticky, and much too hot to be normal. It is unlike anything Arthur is used to, most of which comes from the fact that yesterday had been a cool but pleasant day. Now though, he cuts his hand through the air, like it is suddenly a semi-solid force he can move with his hands. His skin burns with the salt of his sweat, and he can feel his face tightening under the the heat left from the earlier sun.

He peels off his nightshirt, scowling up at the slow tick-spin fan as though it has personally offended him. When his father had offered him a gap year, he’d expected his son to go somewhere… useful. Pick a place like Ireland, of France. Spain even! Just some place where Arthur might stumble across some business partner or other liaison.

Arthur hadn’t know how to explain to his father his absolute disinterest in the family business. Instead, he’d looked at a map for some place with no importance and few connections. He should have picked Kansas.

Now, he is two months into a year long sabbatical in a town with a church on most corners, liquor stores at every stop light, and weather that was more fickle than Morgana’s taste in lovers, before she’d met her wife.

A gnat buzzes in his ears, oblivious to the too early hour, and he very nearly snarls as his hand waves at it ineffectively. No one had ever thought to warn him about the little black devil specs. He flicks his eyes at the alarm clock on his dresser and groans. It’s not yet three a.m. but here he is, swimming in a stew of Georgia air and sweat.

His phone rings, breaking the calm of the night. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to answer it. There are only about two option of who could be calling him. And since he only just got this number for his stay here, he doubts that telemarketers have managed to get it. Which means it’s his father. The idea of speaking to him is about as pleasant as the thought of drowning in his own bed, but he forces himself to reach over and grab the offending device

“Arthur Pendragon speaking.”

There's a moment of surprised silence and Arthur takes the time to slip out of the bed and head into his kitchen area. It still burns him that his father couldn't be arsed to spring on a nicer abode, unless Arthur signed the contract. As it is, he’s paying for the house out of his meager funds, and it shows. He’s just managed to get the cheap stove turned on when he remembers his father called.

“Hello? Father?”

There is some shuffling in the background and then “Arthur. It’s rather early there. I had intended to leave you a voicemail.”

Arthur sighs, deep in his chest, and sets water to boil. “Well, since I’m awake, perhaps you’d like to ask your question?”

There is more noise in the background, papers, ceramic clicking, and Arthur knows his father is at work, and probably on his third cup of coffee.

“Just a check in call. Wanted to make sure you were still enjoying your time over there.”

Arthur bristles. He knows what his father is really asking. _“Are you sure you aren’t ready to come join the business? Have you had enough time with your indiscretions?”_

“Yes. Well, thank you father. It’s quite nice here, actually. The people are friendly and the work isn’t so bad either.” In truth, he actually enjoys working the peach orchard more than he’d thought he would. It’s hard work, and it leaves him sore and sticky, but the sensation of having done so much, the pride of a good day's work, leaves him sated and tired in the best way possible.

 

\---

 

Worrinsburgh is nice, despite its age. Most of the buildings are brick, aged and weathered, and the few that aren't, are comprised of rotting wood beams and fake stone. Most are painted a flurry of odd colors in an attempt to break up the monotony. Arthur’s own borrowed home is a really unfortunate pea green. On just about every street there’s a family owned restaurant and a Mom and Pop store gently tucked between chain restaurants and big corporations. There is very little night life to speak of, but that doesn’t bother Arthur any. The two bars in town rarely seem crowded if he really needs a drink.

In fact, he rather likes the empty streets and the clear skies. Sometimes, when the day’s shift did not wear him out, or when his thoughts scream too loud, he likes to just walk in the groves between the subdivisions and the neighborhoods, picking berries from the bushes and stealing fruits from the trees.

On bonfire nights, when the kids are out and the parents place perhaps a little too much trust in their hellraisers, he slips into the patches of woods smelling the pine and cedar trees and jumps at every howl and hoot he hears. Those nights, he wonders if perhaps his father wasn’t right. He might should have gone somewhere a little more… with the times. A place where the bars play more than folk tunes and “drugs” refers to more than weed and whiskey.

But then he stumbles across a pond, or a strange creek, and he soaks his feet despite the chill in the air, and he reminds himself that he wanted this quiet, away from what his father considers civilization.

Even if his thoughts are too loud in the day, they seem to understand the necessity of these moments, and they mute themselves behind cotton walls.

Sometimes he wakes up beside the creek or the pond with mud streaked kids waving sticks in his face and talking in their syrup-slow tongue. He never minds it and they’re never frightened. They simply accept him, like the odd town does all strangers. There’s enough curiosity though, behind their stares that he thinks, despite its age, this acceptance is a new and tender thing. He resolves to be kind and gentle, with it.

Someone told him once that there used to be a large airbase. Several of the outer crop fields supposedly lay where the tarmac did once. Many families chose this as their last stop in a lifetime of moves, and the community is built by people from all over.

The base shut down in the 90’s; though no one seems to know why. Still, people flock here from all over for the same reason as Arthur; to hide from the rest of the world

Its on one of his late night treks that he finds the boy. He’s hovering under Arthur’s peach tree, the same one he’s been swiping sweet fruit from for a month. Arthur only sees him because of the way the moon catches the smoke curling from his mouth. He’s also fiddling with something in his hands, something Arthur can’t see.

He waffles for a long moment, debating his choice when the boy, man, he realizes, speaks. “Come to pick on Mouse, have you?” It comes out of nowhere, the way he suddenly shifts, hands tucked into his ridiculous hoodie.”Come to scare the stars away?”

Arthur prides himself in knowing what kind of people a person is based on the first three words out of their mouth. But this guy... “Mouse?”

The guy startles, hard enough to hit his head on the tree, and turns. “You’re not Gwaine or Percy.”

“No. Who’re you?”

The guy, Mouse, moves to him on the ground, then stands in a slow, lazy manner that manages to be both awkward and graceful simultaneously.

He doesn’t say anything, just waltzes towards Arthur. He reaches him, and he smells like sweet smoke and salty sweat. It’s… pleasant in a way Arthur can not explain, but it leaves his head a little cloudy.

“When the cat's away, the mice will play.”  He kisses Arthur’s cheek and disappears into the night leaving a very confused blonde in his wake.

 

\---

 

He does not see ‘Mouse’ again for a week; not that he is particularly trying, but Worrinsburgh operates under a strict “once you have seen someone you cannot unsee them” policy.

Mouse, though, is an ever elusive creature hovering just outside of Arthur’s vision. So when he settles into Finders Friends’ cafe, he is expecting to maintain his usual lunch time routine; head down, dipping a grilled cheese into made-from-scratch tomato soup and sipping on coffee that is always just a little too sweet. Maybe he will finish reading the book he started, but more than likely he is going to just piddle around on his phone.

When a lean kid with a mass of unruly black hair, _like a dark storm cloud,_ his mind supplies, taps his shoulder, it startles him so bad he spills red soup down his front. He looks up ready to pick a fight.

Instead he is arrested by miles of winter skin and eyes like frozen rivers. His mind clocks several things all at once. Firstly, this is no child and he was foolish to have ever thought so. Secondly, he has a bar of steel shoved through the top of one of his ears and he’s wearing eyeliner. Thirdly, he is beautiful, in his mesh shirt and tight jeans. Fourthly, and perhaps most importantly, he’s wearing a shit-eating grin and offering Arthur napkins.   

Arthur scowls, hard, and snatches them away, mopping up the mess on his now-ruined work shirt. “You’re lucky we get these for a discounted rate.”

The man shrugs, and to Arthur, he looks like a marionette being jerked up by his strings. “Nice to see you in the daylight, Kitty. Though  I must say, you’re missing your crown.”

The statement makes about as much sense as the previous parting comment, and he cannot understand why it rankles him so, but Arthur grinds his teeth and tries to keep his snarl at bay.

Mouse raises a surrendering hand. “Sorry. I didn’t actually intend to startle you.”

“Aght to string a bell around your neck, Merls. So you stop frightening the customers.”

Another man slides up beside Mouse, and though his hair curls in dark waves similar to Mouse’s, he is tan with hazel eyes and a mischief about him.

“Gwaine. Be polite. It isn’t nice to mock your friends.” Mouse looks bored, and despite them being inside, he pulls a cigarette out of a pack in his pocket and lights it.

Arthur knows he is being petulant when he points to the sign and says “No smoking indoors.”

Mouse turns to Gwaine with raised eyebrows.

Gwaine laughs a hearty sound and slaps his friend on the back. “Sorry, but he happens to be right. No indoor smoking.”

“Not even if you know the owner’s husband?”

Arthur is so busy being impressed at how he manages to talk around the cigarette, he misses what is said at first. His face heats up as soon as it processes and he tries to hide the flush by dipping his sandwich into what is left of the soup.

Gwaine smirks as if he knows exactly what Arthur is doing. “Anyway, Princess. We came over because we have a proposition.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Yeah?”

Mouse sits beside him, too close and so far away. “Harvest is ending soon. And you’ll need real work. Steady work.”

Arthur nods. He’d known this, but had every intention of dealing with it at a later date. Namely, the same day seasonal workers were released. “Yeah?”

Mouse gives him a look, but continues. “Our bar tender, Percival, is going to be out for a while. He and Gwaine just adopted some brat-” his head dips forward as Gwaine slaps the back of it, but he just grins and continues. “And he isn’t fond of the idea of raising a toddler, running a cafe, and tending a bar. We need someone who is pretty enough to draw the crowds, but strong enough to do some lifting. You ever bartend?”

Arthur flushes but shakes his head. “Nope. But my sister Morgana has.”

“The pretty vixen who slapped Leon once?”

Arthur blinks. “Uhm, I am not actually sure.”

Mouse waves Gwaine away. “Irrelevant really. I can teach you.” He produces a card with a flourish. “You start on Wednesday, thirty minutes after they tell you the job is over.” He leans in, and Arthur is afraid he might kiss his cheek again, but instead he blows in Arthur’s ear. It so strange and unexpected, he can’t help but flush.

Mouse smirks and taps the card once, before he and a snickering Gwaine disappear to help the line of customers. Gwaine pauses, just long enough to look at Arthur with a strange but knowing expression. “You’re going to change this town.” Gwaine’s voice is a little distant and his eyes stare at something beyond Arthur. In a blink he is smiling and taking off after Mouse, like nothing happened.

Arthur glances at the card. It contains a name, “Merlin Emerson,” and a number, under a banner for the RedSun. He shoves it in his pocket and abandons his lunch to flee the cafe. He doesn’t like the feeling that Gwaine has seen something he had no right to see.

 

\---

 

Uther takes to calling Arthur at least once a week. He’s not a particularly big fan of the conversations, but he answers every time. Most days, Uther questions how much he can really enjoy what he’s doing. The thing is though, Arthur loves picking peaches. It’s easy to do and he can lose himself in the process normally. But the season is ending soon and Arthur is anxious about what is next. Though he receives a small allowance from a fund left to him by his mother, it really isn’t much to live off.

He fills a basket with sweet fuzzy fruit and think about what is next. There’s always the offer of the RedSun, but he has never been a bartender.

And he likes being outdoors. He enjoys the heat of the sun on his back, the ache in his arms and legs after a long day. He could do without the gnats and the humidity, but there’s something about all of the open land that breathes life into him. The air here is sweet and earthy. It settles in him the same way the salt and dirt settle on his skin, under his nails.

He runs into Gwaine two days later when he is out shopping for groceries. He is just setting his bags into the basket of the bike he borrowed from the house when the bar owner runs, quite literally, into him.  Gwaine takes one long look at him, in an ironed button up and pressed jeans with his hair slicked back neatly, and loses it cackling.

“Mouse was right about you; pretty and posh!” He laughs so hard tears carve war paths down his cheeks and he struggles for breath, leaving his face flushed.

He finishes wheezing, and then he takes a look in Arthur’s basket and laughter whistles out of him once more. “I didn’t even know we sold…” he reaches into the basket grabbing Picantadu cheese and cured lamb meat. “Where did you even find the things?”

Arthur scowls and yanks the bag back, hastily trying to arrange it in the small basket. “You guys have a butcher shop that also sells cheeses. Haven’t you ever tried exploring your small town?”

Gwaine snorts. “Worrinsburgh isn’t that small.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’ve only about 4,000 people here. My block alone has that many people.”

Gwaine looks torn between being impressed and calling Arthur out on his slight exaggeration. “Alright Princess. You feeling a little lonely here? Without a constant entourage?”

Arthur wrinkles his nose at the title. “No. I actually like how empty it is here. It would be nice to have a little more,”  he pauses a moment, trying to come up with proper phrasing. “I do miss the variety of food options back home. You guys tend to fry everything in butter or oil.”

Gwaine shrugs, “We grow our own crops and we raise our own meat. What more could you want?”

Arthur gives him his best blank face. “Fish in a wine sauce with capers and roasted roots in sage oil. Lamb seared with truffle oil. Spaghetti squash roasted with french cheeses. Chicken that comes in cream sauces instead of fried or dry.”

Gwaine gives him a long, slow whistle. “Princess, you picked the wrong town to visit.”

Arthur just grins. “I will say, you guys actually have pretty good steaks around here, and the Barbecue isn’t terrible.”

Gwaine blinks at him like Arthur shoved a rod into his brain and broke the circuits. The he grins a blinding monstrosity that stretches nearly to his ears. “Mouse was right, Princess. You’re gonna be fun.”

He hands Arthur another business card for the RedSun, but this time it has an address on it. Arthur rolls his eyes. “I don’t know that I really want to work a bar, mate.”

Gwaine shrugs again. “Give it a chance Princess. If you survived peach picking I’m sure a few late nights pouring beer won’t be so bad.” Arthur just nods and tucks the card into his wallet, a real leather thing that makes Gwaine throw his hands into the air roll his eyes.

Gwaine leaves Arthur then and Arthur is surprised to find he already misses the friendly conversation. He makes a note to go by the RedSun, if not to work than just for the chance at more conversation.

 

\---

 

The RedSun is a tragic place. That is what Arthur thinks when he walks in on Thursday, still a little dusty from the orchard. Its interior is all exposed wood and odd knick-knacks that look like things left behind by guest.

Strange glass animals and ratty ball caps, metal swords and strips of flags all make up the decor of the old bar. Arthur can’t decide if it is charming or if people are just so desperate for a drink they ignore it.

Gwaine is behind the counter, flirting with a man with curly red hair. Or at least, that’s how it appears. But Arthur knows Gwaine oozes charm and appeal, unintentionally, no matter what is going on.

Even when it’s interrupting Arthur’s pale attempt to figure out the meat options are in this town.

The red-head turns and catches site of Arthur. “So you’re Mouse’s newest recruit.”

“Mouse?”

He laughs and strolls forward to shake Arthur’s hand. “Leon. And it’s an unfortunate childhood nickname he can’t shake.”

Arthur nods, like the explanation makes sense, and then pulls his hand back. “Where is Mou- Merlin?”

He knows he’s a little late, because he doesn’t have a car and this town apparently doesn’t believe in public transportation, and Merlin was off by a day on when they released temp workers. But there is no way Merlin can actually know the exact time Kanen lets his workers go.

Gwaine smirks at him, and points at a clock. It an ugly coca-cola bottle that reads five fifty-eight. “He said if you can’t get here on time, he doesn’t want you. However, he doesn’t own the place and as pointed out, you’re pretty. Schedule is in the back, dress code is pretty much flexible, though no truly ratty jeans and always have close toed shoes. Leon will show you where everything is. Doors open at 3:30 and close at two, but you’ll be here to three most nights with clean up.”

Arthur’s face must look about the same as he feels, because Leon claps him on the back with a friendly smile. “Don’t worry. Thursdays are AldorsCourts’s ‘Free for Ladies’ so it shouldn’t be too busy.”

The chimes above the door jangle and Arthur turns to see Merlin in a tight grey shirt and faded jeans. His pale-blue eyeliner is smudge which seems highly important to Arthur, though he cannot figure out why.

“Don’t get his hopes up. AldorsCourt is closed as the entire staff apparently ate bad clams. It is also a 45 minute drive, and their margaritas usually have too much salt on the rim.” He smirks at Arthur, and there is something so dark in it, that for half a moment he wonders if Merlin had anything to do with it.

He shake the thought from his head.

“Go home and get cleaned up Kitty, you start at 7. I’ll be at your place to pick you up at 6:45.”

The same darkness in his eyes prompts Arthur to do as told.

True to his words, Merlin shows up at 6:45 and lays on the horn of his van until Arthur comes barreling out. He is still struggling to pull on his shirt and his jeans are unbuttoned, but at least he is wearing a pair of dark converse when he slips into the cracked leather seat.

They sit there for a long moment as Arthur manages to get his shirt adjusted and his pants buttoned during that time. He doesn’t bother to tie his shoes just yet. After a long, somewhat tense silence, Arthur runs a hand through his damp hair and turns towards his chauffeur for the night.

Merlin, who at some point fixed his eyeliner, stares at him a moment longer with deeply judgmental eyes. “No wonder Gwaine calls you Princess, Kitten.”

Arthur can feel his jaw hanging as Merlin starts the car, then peels out of the gravel, and he only half minds when slender fingers shove his jaw shut.

“Does it really take you 45 minutes to shower and change?”

Arthur scoffs. “My apologies, for needing to shower and pick a presentable outfit.”

Merlin doesn’t turn, but Arthur can still see the arched eyebrow. “Hope you aren’t fond of that shirt, because chances are it’s gonna get something spilled on it.”

Merlin takes a curve a little too fast for Arthur’s taste while simultaneously digging in his pocket, and when the car lurches he cannot help but sling an arm out towards Merlin. Merlin huffs out a pained breath and then throws something at the side of the head.

Arthur picks up what looks like a thin pen. When he pulls the cap off though, he frowns. “Eyeliner?”

Merlin nods. “All tenders wear it in the RedSun.”

“Why?”

Merlin pulls into a parking spot and then turns to smirk at Arthur. “Because I convinced Gwaine girls love it.”

Arthur’s frown deepens. “And do they?”

“Not a clue, but I do. C’mon Kitty. Let’s make those blue eyes pop.” He smirk at Arthur, like he knows something Arthur can’t even dream of.

He snatches the eyeliner back and leans into Arthur’s space. He’s caught though, by the seat belt and he fumbles it for a moment. Arthur watches in mild amusement.

When he is finally freed, he leans over into Arthur’s space and sort of… hovers there, for a long moment. Arthur waits, though what for he cannot say. When Merlin’s eyes dip down towards his lips, his skin gets tight and his chest feels like balloons are exploding in it.

Merlin’s tongue darts out to lick his lips and their faces are so close Arthur can almost feel it against his own lips, but then Merlin smirks and pulls away. “Close your eyes Kitty, let me line them.”

Arthur doesn’t shut his eyes because he was ordered to. He does it because he can’t bear to see the amusement shining in blue-devil eyes; because he’s ashamed to find himself drawn to a stranger he does not know, based only on a mischievous grin and a troublesome spirit.

 

\---

 

Sometimes, between Gwaine and Merlin, Arthur wonders if this town isn’t just a little haunted. With Merlin, it’s easy to see in his strange moods and the way the town often curls around him in a sticky-sweet thorn barrier.

Underhanded comments like “bless his heart” become the soundtrack to conversations when Arthur asks about ‘Mouse.’ No one actually explains anything, but Arthur wonders if that is because they don’t trust him, or they just don’t know either. The closest he gets to an answer is Gaius, the owner of the local herb shop. (And wouldn’t you know he can’t get fresh seafood here but he can purchase nightshade and witch hazel.)

“Merlin has always been a bit of an odd duck. It wasn’t easy on him or Hunith. Here she was a single mom and he a frightened child with too many thoughts in his head.” It doesn’t really explain anything to Arthur.

“And Gwaine?”

Gaius smiles, fond and amused. “A bit like you, that one. Flew into town hoping to leave his demons behind. He was a wild thing, so of course Merlin was drawn to him. Merlin likes chaos and Gwaine has a bit of a sixth sense for trouble.”

Arthur purses his lips, and remembers the strange moment at Finder’s. “Just trouble?”

Gaius gives him a shrewd look and then shakes his head. “Oh Arthur, be careful the questions you ask. Some answers aren’t worth finding.”

He leaves Arthur then, with his rosemary and sage, to straighten some shelves. Arthur isn’t sure he got any answers at all, save for ones he didn’t want to find.

 

\---

 

The RedSun is a nice establishment, for being a bar. Most nights there are live singers or bands and they’re all pretty friendly. Freya is perhaps his favorite, with her mournful voice and her haunted songs. Smithy, Lancelot and Gwen’s duet, performs most Wednesdays and Sundays, and while at first he’d felt a fleeting interest in Gwen, he’d quickly noticed the looks between the pair.  
  
Currently he and Gwaine had a bet on wedding dates.

Arthur though, hates the RedSun. It is loud and sticky and constantly crowded. The work does not bother him so much, nor does being on his feet. He’d become accustomed to that and the heat when he worked the orchard.

What makes him hate the RedSun is Merlin, who refuses to answer to any name but Mouse while working. Merlin is a terrible teacher with a short temper. He expects Arthur to have the drinks down after one explanation of them. He spends most nights being yelled at and having crates shoved into his arms as he is banished to the back to grab bottles or recycle empty ones.

Tonight, Gwaine is behind the bar looking exhausted as he tries to keep Merlin from Arthur’s throat.

“Rum and coke, with a squirt of lime, Kitten. How hard is it?”

Arthur throws his hands up. “I’m aware of that!”

Merlin slams the glass on the counter, sloshing sticky liquid everywhere. “Then why the everloving fuck is this made with diet coke?”

Arthur flushes. “I thought that's what she asked for! Freya almost always gets diet coke.”

Something flashes in Merlin’s eyes and for a moment Arthur truly believes he is going to die, but then Gwaine steps between them. “Go home. Both of you. I’ll call Percival and Lancelot into work and Gwen can babysit Mordred for us. Or I’ll just have him come sit at the bar and color.”

Arthur doesn’t even bother to argue. He rips his apron off and storms through the employee entrance so he can toss it in the laundry bins before heading out into the cool air.

There is a slight breeze in the air, though he wouldn’t call it cool. He begins the walk home studying the stars above him.

 

\---

 

He calls Morgana to come pick him up from the gas station a few miles from RedSun. She is very quiet on the phone, which makes him think he must not have hidden his frustrations well enough. 

When she pulls up in a sleek, green sports car, spitting gravel as she slams on breaks, he wonders if he might not have been better off walking home. She eyes his tight grey t-shirt and dark jeans and snorts. “Joined a boy band have you?”

The most he can muster up is a scowl that brings a frown to Morgana’s face. She says nothing, and peels back out of the gravel lot. Arthur worries about this rental, and what kind of shape it will be in at the end of the year.

“Tell me brother, why not take what Uther offers you?”

Arthur turns towards her with pursed lips. “You know very well why not, Morgana.”

She shrugs. “Do you really despise taking over the company so much that you’ll live in squalor instead of taking Uther’s money?” 

Arthur shakes his head. “No, but I do mind a marriage of convenience and a lover on the side for the sake of an image I never asked for.”

The rest of the ride is silent, up until he sees Morgana’s plantation house come into view.

“Morgs, this isn’t my home.”

She sniffs disdainfully and slings the car into the garage with the same care one might throw a rock into a ravine.

“It’s plenty big enough for the both of us to stay in. We will grab your things tomorrow.”

Arthur shakes his head as he climbs out of the car, too afraid she might drive through the wall. “No. If Father learns I am not doing this completely on my own, I’ve as good as signed my life over to him.”

She goes to say something, before a porch light flickers on and Mithian peers out. Arthur can tell Morgana invited him to stay last minute, by the gauzy gown his sister-in-law is wearing and the way her dark hair hangs wild and free of its usual updo, but Mithian just smiles brightly.

“Arty! Come to visit your sisters?” Her slight twange rings out into the night.

Arthur goes to answer, but Morgana cuts him off. “Come to stay a while, dear heart. Arty here is having boy troubles.”

Arthur splutters. “I said nothing of the sort!”

Mithian shrugs and wraps an arm around Morgana’s waist, pulling her in for a kiss that is perhaps just a little too deep for the front porch. When they’re done, Mithian offers him a soft smile. “You always call Morgana when you’re having boy problems.”

“I call her for other things too!”

Mithian shrugs, “Not at midnight.”  

She swats Arthur on the back as he walks through the door, and Arthur scowls at her. “Must you always harass me so?”

Mithian laughs, like tinkling bells, and Morgana stares at her awestruck. He knows, in that moment, that he has lost his sister for the night. Mithian smiles at him softly, like she knows something he should. 

He is getting tired of everyone staring at him like they know him better than he knows himself.

Mithian kisses Arthur’s cheek softly, before grabbing her wife’s hand. “Your bedroom is up the right staircase and third door on the left.”

“You already have a room prepared for me?”

Morgana gives him a soft look. “I’ve had it ready for you since you decided you needed a break from London. I was just waiting for you to be ready for it. I’ll have George pick your things up tomorrow. Sleep well, brother.”

Mithian kisses his cheek as well, as Morgana pulls her along.

 

\---

 

Arthur wakes up sweaty, once more. The bed he is in is plush, with a quilt that is just a little to thick for the heat and a fan that ticks too slow. He groans as he rolls over to check the time, but the alarm clock is not in its usual spot on the left.

He bolts upright before the events of the night come back to him. He sighs, noticing it is still dark outside, but also feeling any chance at sleep drift away from him. The first thing he does is check his phone. There are messages from Gwaine and Leon, both apologizing for Merlin last night.

There is a long rambling message from Gwaine that is equal parts explaining that Merlin can be moody, which Arthur knows, and getting lost in a detailed description of Percival in a tight tank and leather pants, full of images Arthur feels he shouldn’t be privy to.

Mostly, the conversations boil down to Arthur getting a free day off work with the intention of him meeting Merlin at Finders Friends and sorting through their ‘lovers squabble.’

He doesn’t want to be anywhere near the oddity that is Merlin. He has no intentions of going to the cafe today, and with this free night away from RedSun, he decides he can wander the grounds of Mithian’s home.

He sets out into the night, studying the stars that are visible in the clear air.  The air is still muggy, but he can feel the first breath of autumn in it. He knows somewhere there is a creek, hidden from view of everyone, but know to a select few. Morgana had once told him he needed to see about it immediately to appreciate it, but now he’s glad he waited. When he stumbles across it, the moon shines like a spotlight making it shimmer and dance.

It makes him feel drunk, the way the waves ripple and the light sashays. He stares into it, letting himself be sucked into another world where things are soft and the breeze smells like hay and apples.

He isn't sure where this magic place is, but it is familiar in that strange way dreams usually are. He stays there by the lake until the cotton candy sky indicates a rising sun. Everything is still soft. The chirping of birds and insects background noise to his thoughts, and he knows he should return to Morgana’s for sleep, but he finds himself wandering through pine and pecan trees until he is breaks out among red clay and harvested fields. He decides it is as good a place as any to spend his morning and he settles with his head cradled in the pine straw placed around the trunk of a Bradley Pear Tree.

 

\---

 

Merlin finds him by Morgana’s creek a week and a few days later. It is shocking, less because he is on Morgana’s property, and more so because he hasn’t been to the RedSun since the blow up. Arthur knows something is going on. Gwaine and Leon refuse to talk about it, and even though Percival and Lancelot fill in frequently, Arthur finds himself struggling to keep up with the flow of customers and their increasingly more complex orders. The most they’ll say to him is “He’ll be back. He always comes back.”

All he really wants to know at this point is who the fuck in this small town decided medieval drinks were a good theme? If he has to make one more White Dragon, (rum, lots and lots of rum) he is going to lose himself in A Royal Guillotine (Arthur doesn’t actually know the recipe. He just dumps several kinds of alcohol into a shaker and hopes they’re too drunk to notice.)

He also doesn’t wear the eyeliner because he sucks at putting it on.

When Merlin finally corners him at the creek, he’s brandishing three thin tubes that Arthur already knows mean trouble.

Merlin doesn’t even say anything. He just shoves Arthur up against the tree and opens a tube of plum liner. Arthur goes to move away, but Merlin grabs his chin and uses his hips to pin Arthur.

The whole world goes quiet as Merlin focuses, drawing careful shapes around Arthur’s eyes. When he has satisfied himself, he opens up a tube of golden liner. He once more takes his time to trace the shape of Arthur’s eyes.  Not quite on top of the plum, but accentuating the inner corner. He pauses for a long moment, studying his handiwork, before opening the third tube. Arthur furrows his brow at the white pencil, but Merlin tuts at him and forces him to tilt his head.

It stings a little, the way Merlin traces his lashes, but he does his best not to flinch. When Merlin is done, he tilts Arthur’s head side to side, studying the effect. Then he leans in, and for a long time they are suspended in the moment, with Merlin’s breath ghosting over Arthur’s lips. This time, he is the one to lick his lips, and something dark flashes in eyes lined in glittery fuchsia and turquoise. For a moment, it is not Merlin staring at him, but some monster ready to devour all that is good in Arthur. 

Merlin is going to kiss him. Arthur knows this the way he knows his eyes are blue, and fluttering shut in preparation. Merlin rolls his hips into Arthur, and he thinks _this is the moment_. Then a bird chirps and Merlin pulls away, shoving the pencils in his pocket. “I’ll start picking you up at 6:30, so I have time to properly line your eyes.”

Calm as a lazy summer day, Merlin saunters off leaving Arthur hard in his pants and extremely confused.

 

\---

 

They don’t talk about the wood moment. Ever. It drives Arthur mad though, because it has unlocked something in Merlin. He does come every night Arthur works at 6:30, and takes to lining Arthur’s eyes in siennas and mauves and ceruleans. Those are the good nights, where Merlin is kind and shows him the drinks, step by step, with careful hands on Arthur’s, teaching how to measure.

Other nights he wears burnt umbers and indigos and lilacs. He hates those nights. Hates everything about Merlin, and the RedSun. Those are the nights Merlin snarls at him, runs his hands along Arthur’s back and curses every move he makes.

Those are the nights Gwaine’s eyes are lined in gold or in brick or in emerald. When Percival is forced to bring Mordred to the bar and have him color at the end because Merlin will inevitably storm out in a flurry of curses and thrown drinks.

Arthur still hasn’t quite determined how to predict Merlin’s moods; he is learning though. Merlin is a terrible tornado ripping through RedSun, pouring drinks and heckling the musicians, and smoking cigarettes out back like he needs them like air. He is gold liner and bruising fingers. Mouse though, is the too-sweet smell of weed and plum liner. He hums along to the songs that play, offers free drinks to the Smithys and his touches are feather-light fingers finding Arthur’s collarbone, his hips, his neck.

It all comes to head on a Saturday night. Merlin shows up, dark red eyeliner rimming his eyes and making him look sinister. Arthur is preparing a round of blowjob shooters for a bridal party, despite his other suggestions, when Merlin slings the bottle of Amaretto at him. Arthur misses the bottle and it slides to the floor, shattering and spraying the both of them in sticky liquor. The bar goes quiet, ready for the show Merlin’s contorting face promises.

Arthur raises his hands slowly. “Merlin, I’m sorry. It just slipped.”

The noise Merlin makes cannot be human. “Get out.”

Arthur splutters for a moment. “Wha- my shift is until 3 a.m.”

“Get out. Of my bar.”

Arthur wants to argue, to remind Merlin that it is Gwaine’s bar. But he knows Mordred is home with the flu and his fathers will be of no use, so he turns to leave, muttering an apology to Tristan and Isolde who are temporarily serving as tenders while Percy and Gwaine are occupied.

Arthur isn’t one to run from his problems normally, but he has no shame in tucking tail and running from Merlin in this moment. Only he doesn’t hear the door slam behind him. When he turns to see why, he is attacked by a dark cloud. 

“Stupid clumsy Kitty, where is your grace?” Hands scrabble at his shirt and then he is yanking it over Arthurs head. Arthur hisses when it catches on his ear but before he can voice his complaint, his lips are sealed by Merlin’s warm lips.

His first thought is that someone needs to offer Merlin chapstick. His second thought gets lost in the sensation of a tongue battling for dominance. He isn’t used to losing though, so he pushes at Merlin’s chest until he has the lean male shoved against the brick, one hand settling itself on a bony hip.

Arthur will never know how far it could have gone, because Valiant comes bustling out the backdoor with the trash, effectively ruining the moment. Merlin stares at him, that same vicious beast in his eyes.

He smirks, drags a finger across the bulge in Arthur’s pants, and then finds his way back to the bar. “Goodnight, Kitty. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

\---

 

It becomes a thing with them. If Mouse shows up to work, he drives Arthur home and teases him with silky fingers and light kisses. If Merlin shows up, Arthur spends the night being yelled at and ultimately finds himself pinned against bricks, trees, and once the dumpster, assaulted by angry kisses and left half-hard and forced to walk to Morgana’s house if she doesn’t answer his phone call.  

He knows he should be more bothered by these circumstances, but he cannot find it in him to confront Merlin. Arthur is not one to run, but he knows that if he says anything, the game will end, and he isn’t sure if he’s ready for the consequences. 

Instead, he entertains himself with picking the last few peaches of the season, and following Morgana as she places the pits on graves.  
  
“Aren’t we supposed to leave coins as tokens?”

Morgana shrugs. “Most cultures do. And for soldiers, yes. But for whatever reason, Worrinsburgh took to placing peach pits. Supposedly there is some harvest and rebirth connection, but mostly I think it comes from a time when people didn’t have many coins to spare.”

Arthur shrugs, and places a pit on Mithian’s great-uncle's grave. “And the ones dipped in silver or gold?”

Morgana huffs at him. “Heavens Arthur. How should I know? I didn’t actually grow up here.”

Arthur laughs.

Morgana goes quiet for a long time, and they sit there enjoying the breeze. Fall has come at last, and with it, the strange spicy smell of cinnamon and pecans. Arthur hasn’t grown fond of the nuts yet, but there is something soothing in watching his sister crack the shells and clean them.

“What is with you and Mouse?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t tease, Arthur. It’s unbecoming.”  

He wants to laugh at how false that statement is, but he doesn’t know that he wants her involved in that aspect of his life. “Nothing is going on between us. Half the time I think he cannot stand me.”

Morgana shakes her head. “Mouse is…” She goes silent for a long time. “When Mithian brought me back, she pointed out a simple orange-paneled home at the end of Cotton Lane. ‘It’s a beautiful home, small and cozy,’ she said, ‘but you’ll not want to linger there. It’s rather haunted.’”

Arthur scoffs. “I don’t believe in ghost, Morgs.”  

She turns a sharp green gaze on him. “Sometimes ghost are more than phantom energies, Arthur. Sometimes they are memories that linger.”

“What happened?”

Morgana purses her lips. “It was not Mithian’s story to tell, and I doubt it is mine either. But someone should tell you anyway.”  

The first chill of the season chooses that moment to slink down Arthur’s spine. He waits, knowing this story will not be rushed. Morgana busies herself with shelling and cleaning some pecans she picks up from the ground around them, and when she finally speaks her voice is soft. “Mouse didn’t have a father. Which is not something Worrinsburgh was known for being kind about. But his mother did her best to shield him, and his uncle helped to raise him.”

Arthur frowns. “Lots of kids grow up without fathers.”

Morgana shushes him with a single look. “Worrinsburgh has changed a lot in 20 years, Art. But it hasn’t always been so accepting of deviant lifestyles. And when Mouse was younger, he was oblivious to the way people responded to his affections.” 

Arthur frowns. “His affections?”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “You’re seriously unaware of where his taste lean?”

Arthur flushes.

When Morgana continues, her voice is soft and somber. “There was another boy, Will. He and Mouse were the closest of friends. And for a while, friends is all they were. Sometime around age 13 though, they began to think of each other differently.”  
  
“And the town didn’t like it, I take it?” Arthur doesn’t really want the answer. 

Morgana gives him a sad smile. “Will’s father was a deacon in the big church on main street. He tried to pray for his son, to purge him of the wickedness in him. He wanted to baptize him in holy water.”

Arthur’s stomach rolls uncomfortably, and the peach he’d eaten earlier turns sour in his stomach.

“Will couldn’t swim though. He had always been afraid of the water.” 

“No more, please.”

Morgana grips his hand. “No, Arthur. You must understand. Will went to Mouse. Begged him to teach him how to swim, so that his father could no longer torment him. But Mouse was small and wiry, and the creeks were swollen from the flood.”

“They labeled it an accident, and Will’s father hung himself a month later.”  Brother and Sister both jump at the hollow voice. “Now you know Mouse’s secret.” 

Merlin’s eyes are empty, and something in Arthur breaks. Morgana stands and brushes her pants off. She hesitates in front of Merlin like she wants to say something, anything. Instead she places a hand on his shoulder. When he flinches, she nods at him once and walks away.

Merlin stands there watching Arthur for a long time, face carefully neutral. Arthur does not believe in ghost, but here in this graveyard, something possesses him. He stands and cautiously approaches Merlin who stands as still as a stone angel; a stone devil. He is careful in his approach; gentle in the way he grips Merlin’s face.

They are searching for something in each other, blue storm eyes chasing clear sky eyes. Arthur isn’t sure they find it, but Merlin grips his hand and leads him to the van parked on the lone hill at the back of the graveyard. 

Arthur has never once been into public exhibitionism, but he finds himself drawn into the illicit thrill as Merlin pulls lube out from under one of the worn seats. The van has the same too-sweet smell Mouse wears to work, but beneath it is a musk that is all Merlin.

He loses himself in deft fingers and hard thrust and a mouth full of teeth just a little too sharp, biting a little too hard.

And when Merlin drops him off at Morgana's later, he only hates him a little for the blank stare he is left with.

 

\---

 

On one of the nights Merlin doesn’t come to work, Arthur doesn’t call Morgana. He’d gotten off work early, around 10 p.m. and had decided that he needed to walk through the quiet of the night. He can’t explain why, but he needs this time, this space from everyone. He knows he’s being unfair, knows he has pushed Merlin away this time.

He doesn’t quite know what the itch under his skin is about, but he knows he needs to get rid of it. It’s making him prickly and between his temper and Merlin’s distance, they aren’t much more than at each other’s throats these days.

He isn’t sure how long he walks. Only that eventually he ends up at the creek where he first met Mouse. He stays there for a long time, watching the stars, watching the branches sway in a soft breeze. His phone buzzes but he ignores it. It rings again, and he checks it. It is too late for Uther’s weekly call, and too early for Merlin to be concerned he isn’t home.

To his surprise, it is Morgana.

“Arthur? Where are you?”

He looks around, for any kind of clue, but the truth is he doesn’t have a coordinates. “Somewhere in the woods. You?”

She mutters a low curse and he can hear music and dishes in the background. “Funny story, brother dear. Mithian and I thought to come see you and Merlin at work tonight, but neither of you are here. Can you find your way to Main Street?”

Arthur frowns, but nods, even though she can’t see him. “I didn’t know you were the type to go to a bar, Morgana.”

“And I didn’t know you were the kind to wander through the woods in a strange town alone.”

Arthur's frown deepens. “Yeah, I can be at Main Street in like,” he glances at his watch, like it’s not too dark to read it. “I can be there soon.”

He arrives at the center of Main Street to see Morgana lounging against a green sports car. She lets him get closer before she snarks at him. “Can’t be arsed to do a hard days work?”

Arthur doesn’t bother responding.

“Why are you here, Arthur?"

His response is automatic. “To escape from London. To find somewhere separate from the rest of the world so I could explore what I want and who I am without the expectations of those around me.”

She raises both brows. “So you picked the town where your half-sister lives with her wife?” 

Arthur flushes. He is suddenly glad it is too dark to see. “I didn’t want to totally cut myself off from everything I knew. I know what kind of person I am. I needed to know that if I truly started to fall apart, I’d have some tether back.”

She nods, like she was waiting for that answer. “Merlin doesn’t really do tethers, Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t-” He purses his lips and drums his fingers on his leg. “I don’t really understand your point, Morgana.”

She sighs and opens the passenger’s door. Arthur climbs in and Morgana gets in and they sit in silence for a while. “I don’t mind you being here, Arthur. In fact I am glad. I missed you. But you need to be careful. Think about why you’re here and if you’re staying. Merlin doesn’t like to do anchors. He is afraid to form attachments to people.”

Arthur cannot help interrupting her. “He seems pretty friendly with Gwaine, at least.”

Morgana nods her head. “Yes, well. Gwaine understands some piece of Merlin that exist beyond anything you or I can see. Merlin lets him in, because Gwaine gives him no other option.”

“Why are we talking about Merlin?”

“Tone of voice, brother. I’m not some intern you can silence that way.” She starts the engine, but before she drives she turns to him. “I’m worried, Arthur. You say you wanted to escape, and to find yourself, but you answer every one of Uther’s calls.”

“And Merlin?”

Morgana drives and doesn’t answer until they’re almost home. “You’re going to break him, or he’s going to break you. You need to decide where home is, so you know where to run when it happens.”

Arthur doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to. He isn’t sure he really understands what she is telling him anyway.  It makes him wonder though, how temporary his stay here really will be. In some ways, he forgets this is not his home. He feels so involved here. He likes his shitty bartending job and the small stores and the quirky towns folks.

He can’t imagine returning to London in a few months time.

 

\---

 

Lance is the next one to confront Arthur. “Be careful with him.” 

Arthur raises a brow as he scrubs the RedSun’s bar.

“There hasn’t been anyone since Will. No one serious, anyway.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I doubt you could actually call us serious.”  In truth, he doesn’t know what to call them. He spends most afternoons with Merlin. Merlin spends the time getting high and blowing Arthur. Arthur loses himself in moonlight skin and chapped lips.

Gwaine watches him with weary eyes, but he does not separate their shifts, nor does he lecture Arthur. He leaves that to Percival who hands Arthur a sobbing Mordred. Sometimes though, there is a sorrow in Gwaine’s eyes that extends beyond Arthur and Merlin’s strange relationship. It feels as though Gwaine knows something he’s too afraid too confront. Too afraid to confess to Arthur.   

“He gets attached too easy, obsessed. If you plan to go back, you need to stop this, now. You’ll only hurt him more. And I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt him, but you being here could cause problems we can’t imagine yet. He likes to pretend he doesn’t need anyone, that he can stay totally unattached. He can’t. He puts a good front on though.” 

Leon nods. “He seems tough, but he’s quite fragile."

Arthur cannot help but snort. He’s had Merlin’s cock inside of him several times. Merlin is not fragile. Merlin is a powerful force. He is not contained in skin and bones the way Leon and Gwaine and Lance are. He might be slight compared to Percival, but Merlin is stardust trapped in flesh and burning with a need to shine. Gwaine is wrong to believe that Merlin is broken and cannot be fixed.

Still, he is cautious. If it annoys Merlin, the way he holds him like he is precious, Merlin simple marks his hips with angry fingers and leaves bruising kisses on his neck.

He has a million questions he wants to ask everyone. Where Merlin’s mother is or why he seems so distant sometimes; why everyone walks around Merlin like he is broken glass and they’re just hoping for a chance to put him back together?

 

\---

 

“Watch the stars with me?” Arthur ask one afternoon. They’re curled under an old quilt on Merlin’s rickety bed, the air that strange mix of summer heat and winter chill. Arthur hates Merlin’s house, with its single hallway, but he finds himself unprepared to bring Merlin into his own space just yet. He cannot explain the sensation that bringing Merlin home, to his own bed, is to let the other male in fully, to let him seep into every part of Arthur, and take root.   

Merlin rolls so that he can face Arthur, pillowing his head on Arthur’s chest, fingers gently tugging at the curls.

“Why?”  

Arthur snorts. “Does there have to be a reason?”

It is Mouse that stares back at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Arthur sighs deeply. “Because I enjoy your company. And I would like it for more than a quick tryst in the sticky heat of the afternoon.

Mouse answers in a soft voice. “I like the stars. They call to me.”

“They call to you?” Arthur tries to keep the laughter out of his voice, because he can taste the somber tone of the words.

Mouse shrugs, tracing constellations over Arthur’s belly.

“They promise to guide me home.”   

It is an unsettling thought, Mouse’s answer. It is not the first time Arthur had wondered if his friends were not right about him, in some small, distant way. He chooses not to think too hard on it, chooses to believe that Merlin is the constellation in the center of the sky, completely and undeniably whole. Instead he rolls back on top of Merlin and bites plump lips gently, rolling his hips hard.

He cannot stop his mind though. Merlin, in a surprising show of clarity and empathy gently lays Arthur beside him. He tangles their hands together and for a while just runs his nose along Arthur’s cheeks, his neck. “What are you thinking, Kitty?”

The truth is, Arthur is thinking a lot of things. But they’re all too heavy for this moment. Instead he grapples for a light topic. He shifts his position so this time he can lay with his head on Merlin’s chest. He feel Merlin’s heartbeat echoing in his chest for a long time, before he finally ask, “Why are you called ‘Mouse’?”

Merlin tenses and suddenly Arthur is afraid he has overstepped a boundary he knew nothing about. Once more he is reminded of all the warnings he has received about Merlin, and he cannot help but feel he has broken some fragile piece he had not seen before. He wonders, not for the first time, if stars are not uncontained gas, but brittle glass.

But then Merlin speaks. “My mom raised me alone, growing up.” Arthur knew this, but he says nothing. “I was an anxious child with big ears and pants that were usually too large. Money was tight so she tried to make things stretch longer. “

Arthur doesn’t quite grin at the image, but he does reach up and gently tug Merlin’s ears. Merlin swats his hand away. “I used to have this… this habit. Of talking really fast and really high pitched. So much so that I was hard to understand. 

Merlin goes quiet for a moment, and Arthur watches his face. It is like Merlin is watching his memories on a big screen. It doesn’t look like a particularly beautiful movie, which prompts Arthur to place a kiss on the exposed skin at Merlin’s collar bone. Merlin tangles his hands in Arthur’s hair and his eyes flutter shut.

“Mom always said I sounded like a squeaking Mouse. Usually she said it only in the privacy of our home. But one day, when she came to pick me up from school she was particularly flustered. I don't quite remember why. Bills, grades, some other adult worry. I must have had an epically good, or a terribly horrific day at school because I came barreling out of the class talking as though I was a VCR on fast forward.”

He strokes Arthur’s hair and then heaves a deep sigh that bounces Arthur’s head a bit uncomfortably. His voice is a little distant when he continues. “She didn’t mean too, being angry like that. She just… I could be a lot to handle and she was tired. ‘Mouse!’ she cried. ‘Use your human voice!’ We didn’t know at the time that Owain and Cenred had heard.”

Arthur shivers, or maybe it’s Merlin. “I came to school the next day, and everyone kept offering me bites of cheese. I didn’t understand it at first.” 

“And when you did?”

Merlin glances down at him. Arthur watches the war in his eyes; watches Merlin struggle to stay present and not escape to that dark, cruel void in his head. “A mouse always runs from a kitty, Arthur. But that doesn’t mean the mouse is scared. Remember who has more experience in the maze.”

Arthur watches him for a long time, waiting, searching for some unnamed thing. He does not find it and he cannot decide if it is relief swelling in him, or worry

“I’ve been trapped in a maze lit by stars my whole life. They knew nothing of it.”

Something shifts, cracks with the explanation. He sits up and pulls Merlin up as well, planting a hard kiss against his lips. He wants, more than he ever has, to take Merlin right here, right now. He wants to chase away the ghost and the demons that bind him to this place.

He wants to thank them for keeping Merlin here. “Tell me, Mouse,” he whispers as he pulls off his shirt, then Merlin’s. “Where does my maze end?”

Merlin helps him, but stops him before he can get his pants off. Instead he shoves Arthur to the ground. There is a hunger in his eyes that Arthur thinks he should fear, but as Merlin stretches along him, he finds himself feeding that hunger. Merlin pulls back and Arthur can feel the whole world shift. Feel something aligning between him and Merlin, like this moment was always meant to be. Like, as Merlin says “Your maze was written in the stars.”

He understands that means his maze must also end among the stars. “We must go see them, then. The mazes written by stars.”

 

\---

 

They don’t see the stars for a two weeks. Mordred comes down ill and Arthur and Merlin take over running RedSun for the duration. It stresses Arthur out. He doesn’t like being in charge of the bar. It is unfamiliar grounds and a battle he seems to constantly be on the verge of losing. Merlin takes to keeping the liquor stocked and, when Smithy takes a holiday, organizing the bands. 

Gwaine suspects they’ll come back engaged, but Arthur knows otherwise. Lance is too much of a romantic to do it without the ring and he knows for a fact that Gwen wants to get engaged on her parents’ porch swing, the way her mama did.

The few times Gwaine makes it in to check on his staff, Arthur lets him prance around like a peacock.

He comes in at the end of the second week, bruises under his eyes, and sits at the bar. “Arthur, have Merlin make me an Excalibur.”

Arthur frowns. Less, because Gwaine specifically doesn’t want him making it (Excalibur has seven different components to it, and Arthur hates it) and more because Gwaine rarely drinks, despite owning a bar. “Hows Mordred?”

Gwaine scowls. “Oh, he’s fine now. Hasn’t had a fever in two days. Its Percival thats ill now.”

Arthur wisely says nothing and tells Merlin his order.

Merlin laughs, a rushing sound, and complies. “You’ll want to stay away from him for now. Gwaine’s always grumpy when Percival is sick.”

True to Merlin’s warning Gwaine snarls at a customer who bumps him, and nearly bites off Isolde’s head when she’s three minutes late for her shift. Tristan places a hand on her shoulder and stares at Gwaine, who mumbles an apology.

He’s on his second drink before he speaks again. “The thing is, I’m not much without Percival.”

Arthur shrugs. “Not sure about that…”  

Gwaine shakes his head. “No, you don’t get it.” He doesn’t explain it though, just goes back to staring at his drink.

Merlin slips up behind him, standing too close to Arthur. He leans over his shoulder and breaths in Arthur’s ear. “Gwaine used to be something of a hellraiser. Very protective over his friends and his family.”

Arthur studies Gwaine for a moment and he can see the thin lines of scars on his knuckles and his cheeks. He isn’t sure how he missed them before, except that they never seemed to matter.

Merlin continues. “It can be hard, here, being anything but conservative. Town has changed a lot in a few decades, but they used to be hard on anyone who didn’t fit their standard. And Gwaine here has never really been one to follow the rules. His family moved here when he was a little older so he didn’t have the same fear ingrained in him. Add to it his propensity for predicting trouble...”

It strikes Arthur as funny, hearing Merlin say that. He doesn’t laugh though. Merlin is in a rare mood tonight. As he explains, he’s chasing gentle patterns up Arthur’s arms.

“He was headed down a dangerous path, one where his fist defended his family's right to practice. One where every cop knew his name and wanted his hide. Percival come into town just in time. He’s Gwaine’s leash. Keeps him calm and tethered, and Gwaine knows it. ”

Arthur half turns, unable to help the way his eyes dip to Merlin’s lips. Merlin doesn’t notice. “Percy had a bad run in with pneumonia two years after he got here. Gwaine begged any forced that would listen to spare him, promising he’d clean up his act. Percival got better and Gwaine converted. Now he panics every time Mordred or Percival so much as sneezes.”

Arthur studies the nervous staccato Gwaine taps on the bar, unaware of the way he is leaning into Merlin. Gwaine glances over and doesn’t miss it. 

“I’m sorry boys. I didn’t mean to make you guys work so much. Finish up this round of drinks and take two nights off. I’ll help cover some shifts, and Percy should be better soon, and I’ll call Leon in for an extra shift or two.”

Arthur thinks to reject the offer, but he is tired and his body aches and he wants just one night free from the sticky feel of liquor seeping into his pores. Merlin trials his fingers along the back of Arthur’s neck, making the decision for him.

 

\---

 

Arthur loves Worrinsburgh, in a lot of ways. It’s a sleepy little place, prone to small stores and local restaurants over big chains. People are a little overly friendly, always wanting to ask about someone’s day, their mother, the garden they aren’t growing, but they’re willing to help in a pinch and they always smile.

The problem with sleepy towns though, is that they’re usually asleep by ten. Only the few chain fast food places stay open, and usually even those are only to midnight. Merlin doesn’t seem concerned though, as they walk down the road.

“Remind me what is wrong with your car again?”

“I drove it through George’s fence on accident.”

Arthur nods. He’d actually seen the aftermath. Merlin had hit the fence at a corner and wrecked one of George’s prized Mimosas. He’d been so inconsolable that Mithian had given him the week off from her office.

Arthur still can’t quite understand how it happened. It hadn’t rained for weeks, leaving the roads dry and dusty, and it had been mid-day. As far as he had heard, it was one of the few times Merlin had been sober behind the wheel. Anytime he tries to ask questions about it though, the town goes quiet on him.  

No one has actually slammed a door in his face or locked him out, but they certainly know how to get the feeling across. He wants to ask, to understand, but the night is peaceful and Merlin is gentle, and he knows if he voices his question he’ll break the spun-glass mood.

“I’m starving. What do you guys do for midnight snacks around here?”

Merlin grins at him. It’s terrifying, all teeth and sparkling eyes, but he grabs Arthur’s hand and caterpillars explode into butterflies in his belly. Merlin’s hand, like the rest of him, feels a little chapped, a little too sharp, and worry settles in his gut, hiding itself among the swarm.

“No one has shown you Aunty Alice’s yet?” Arthur makes the mistake of glancing at Merlin. The childlike glee on his face hurts Arthur, in ways he doesn’t want explore just yet.  
  
“Can’t say that they have.”

Merlin’s grin widens. He looks so young under the glow of the moonlight, so different from the man he met that first night. He has so many questions in his mind and he knows he is staring, but he cannot stop, cannot ask them. Merlin has enchanted him, but it’s a spell he does not want to break.

 

\---

 

Aunty Alice, like so many Worrinsburgh locals, is a bit of a kitschy place. It’s decorated in red chevrons and purple accents. Pictures of towns folks and dogs and cats hang off the walls and from the rafters beams. It’s connected to a gas station that smells like incense and sugar.

“Aunty Alice makes the best hot chocolate you’ll ever taste.” Merlin’s voice bubbles out of him and he bounces lightly on his toes. 

A petite woman with long grey hair comes from somewhere in the back and when she spots Merlin, she glows. “Mouse! Come to see Aunty?” She flicks her eyes at Arthur. “And you brought a friend?”

Arthur doesn’t miss the strange glimmer in her eyes as she catches their joined hands  but before he can think on it Merlin is tugging him onto a red plastic stool. Merlin leans across the speckled bar and lets her kiss both of his cheeks. Arthur has no intentions of allowing the same, but he gets distracted as she passes something into Merlin’s hands and before he knows it he has two bright pink lipstick stains on either cheek.

“Mousey. You’re so skinny. You need to eat.”  She tuts around them fixing a plate of pastry items. Arthur wants to ask Merlin what he’s shoving into his pocket, but Merlin just shakes his head.

“How is Hunith?”  The question hits Merlin, making him tense up. “She’s fine. Still in Portugal with Balinor.”

Aunty Alice must hear the same venom in his voice that scratches Arthur’s ears because she pauses where she was grabbing cups. She stands, whipping her long braid over her shoulder. “Merlin Emerys. You drop that tone right now boy.” 

Merlin scowls for a moment, but Alice stares him down with her cornflower blue eyes. Finally, he caves and mumbles out an apology. She nods and turns her back on them, preparing the machine for her spiced hot chocolate, but Arthur can see the light tremor in her hands. Whoever Hunith and Balinor are, they must have strong connections to both Merlin and Alice.

He doesn’t like the way the tension settles onto his skin like lake sludge, but he does not know how to scrape it away. It is quiet, save for the churning of the machine until she sets two mismatched china cups in front of them. Arthur picks his up and takes a cautious sip.

“My word. This is fantastic!”  Alice beams at him and taps her nose. “Secret is in the spice.” 

Merlin grouses beside him. “She won’t give the recipe to anyone. Says she’s gonna will it to someone when she dies.” 

It’s a morbid thought to be said so lightly, but Arthur watches the way Alice studies him, and he knows exactly who is going to receive it. “Someone is going to be a lucky person then.”

 

\---

 

They stay at Aunty Alice’s for a long time. She talks to them about everything; the weather, her cats, memories of different towns folks, and plies them with sweets and drinks until the sun breaks free from the night, bursting in the soft colors of morning. When they go to pay her, she waves their cash away, and both men drop twenties into the tip jar when she takes the cups to the back. 

The day is already beginning to warm up when they leave, hand in hand. Arthur finds he doesn’t really mind the sweaty palms. He has no clue what their plans are now. All he knows is that he really doesn’t want Merlin to leave him yet. Part of him is afraid; afraid that if he lets this version of Merlin, this calm and relaxed being, go, he will not get him back.

“We should go for a swim.”  Arthur jumps, unaware of how deep in thought he had been. 

“In Mithian’s creek. Its pretty secluded and they’ll be at the offices by now.”

“I don’t have swim trunks, Merlin.”

The dangerous gleam is back in his eyes, and even smudged in hot pink liner, Arthur is terrified. Perhaps even more so because of the liner.

“Don’t need them. No one will bother us. Arthur can feel his face doing funny contortions as he sorts through the words. When he parces out their meaning, it is more than the heat of an October sun turning his skin red. He doesn’t object though. The walk to the creek takes a while, and he’s beginning to drip with sweat enough that the idea is only slightly churning in his belly. 

Merlin strips quickly and efficiently when they reach the pond. The easy of his movement, the lack of embarrassment tells Arthur he has done this before. Arthur looks away to offer some sense of privacy and Merlin laughs at him.

“Is Kitty afraid of water?”

Arthur narrows his eyes and peels his shirt off, then goes to unbutton his pants. He has them halfway to his ankles when he looks up and catches sight of Merlin’s backside, and though he has felt it, been inside of him, he has never once actually seen Merlin naked in proper lighting. He is beautiful. Pale skin dotted with a few dark marks, all sharp angles and harshe curves, but that is not what catches Arthur’s attention. It’s the roadmap that he has felt beneath the pads of his fingers and tasted with his tongue, but never truly thought about.

The strange, ridged mark curls from his left rib cage down his thigh and back up over his left cheek. He goes to say something about it, anything, but then he catches Merlin’s eyes and that dark poison is swirling. Suddenly he is afraid of the beast caged in Merlin.

He quickly strips the rest of his clothing off and then runs full force at Merlin, tackling him into the water. Merlin sputters and scowls at him. Arthur gives him a smirk. “Sorry Mouse, but Kitty rather likes a good swim.”

Merlin narrows his eyes as Arthur releases him and lets himself drift further into the water. “I’ll show you a good swim.”

He attempts to catch Arthur, but Arthur ducks down and swims under long legs, grabbing an ankle and tugging at it. Merlin follows him down, tries to wrap his arms around Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur uses the slickness of creek slime to wiggle free.  He swims up behind Merlin, purposefully sliding his wet skin against Merlin’s back, fingers ghosting across Merlin's abdomen.

“What was that you said once about a mouse playing?” He bites at Merlin’s ear, just once, before diving back under and swimming away, laughter creating bubbles in the water.  He doesn’t get far before Merlin grabs his ankle and pulls him close, so they are flush against each other.

This time, Arthur knows why Merlin’s eyes are dark He can feel it against his thigh. When Merlin grabs his face and tangles their legs together, Arthur lets him. Merlin leans in, and the kiss is surprisingly soft, for what it usually is. Merlin’s tongue doesn’t even demand entrance.

His hands though, slip from Arthur’s face to roam his body. He grabs Arthur’s cock and strokes once, quick and hard, and Arthur can’t help jerking into him. He pulls away from the kiss enough to whisper “I am not having sex in the creek, Mouse.”

Merlin sighs, as if this is some great travesty thrust upon him, but he pulls Arthur out of the water by the hand. They abandon their clothes by the creek and race back to the house, to Arthur’s room.

 

\---

 

There’s nothing quite like taking Merlin in the oversized bed Morgana has lent Arthur. Watching the pale skin stretch out across dark sheets, listening to his loud and unashamed cries. Arthur hates the way the water clings to his skin, the way it taste, but he doesn’t let it stop him from worshiping every inch of Merlin.

It isn't until after they’ve showered and raided the fridges, after they have napped tangled together beneath a red quilt, that Arthur speaks. “What happened?”

Merlin is quiet for a long time, statuesque. Arthur is afraid that his question broke some unspoken rule, but then Merlin turns towards him, traces the shape of Arthur’s nose. “Do you ever wonder what the stars are made of?”

Without thinking Arthur answers, “Hydrogen gas, I believe.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I mean beyond that. Like, is star dust really a compilation of everyone who has lived and died?”

Arthur has never been one for that kind of musing. Has never once thought about life after death or what things are made up of beyond their basic elements. He doesn’t want to stop Merlin from talking though, so he just shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Merlin nestles into him a little closer. “Do you think we are born of stars, Kitty?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. Because that would mean the our stars would need to disappear from the sky for a while.”

Merlin seems to dislike that answer, if the way he tenses is any indication, so Arthur continues. “I think maybe, we have a star up there that watches us. And the brighter our star, the happier our life.”

Merlin is quiet again, though he traces constellations into Arthur’s thigh.  “What happens if our star falls?”

Arthur has no good answer, none he wants to share. He doesn’t know how to explain the fear that wells up in him at the question, but he pulls Merlin close. If they are truly made of stardust, then he wants to absorbed Merlin into him, wants to share himself with Merlin. He wants Merlin to become the North Star, and to shine so bright he’s impossible to miss. 

He remembers a time when he was afraid of letting Merlin consume him. Like he had any choice in the matter.

He has a feeling though, that Merlin is a supernova waiting to happen.

 

\---

Fall arrives full force around the middle of October, with sudden bouts of below 90 weather. Arthur isn’t sure he can call this autumn, but the first time the weather hits 75, everyone pulls out boots and flannels and hats with pom poms. It’s ridiculous, but Gwaine makes it a point to buy Arthur a pair of heavy boots and a truly disturbing array of colorful plaid. Merlin takes one look at Arthur in a pale pink flannel and grey jeans, eyes lined in silver, and he walks out of RedSun. He doesn’t come back for an hour, and when he does, his face is flushed and his eyes glossy.  

Gwaine snickers and runs a hand over Merlin’s cloud of hair, but he continues to push the RedSun’s flannel dress code. Arthur is convinced he does it just to torment Merlin. Payback for some slight Arthur has missed.

Payback for whatever fight they have going on.

Arthur doesn’t really know what happened between them. He’d take a week off work, to spend time with Mithian and Morgana as they traveled to the beach. Everything had been fine when he left, all warm and muggy and overly friendly.

He’d returned to cinnamon and pumpkin spice and a… and Gwaine and Merlin not speaking beyond general teasing banter.

No one will tell him what is going on. Not even Alice who just gives him The Look and hands him a spiced cocoa and waves him away.

It’s driving him mad, but Merlin spends most night distracting him with skillful fingers and probing tongues.  

Merlin has practically moved into his bedroom at Morgana’s. It is nice, because his bed is big and warm and soft. He tries, occasionally, to ask Merlin about Hunith and Balinor, but either Merlin walks out of the room, barely bothering to clothe himself, or he grips Arthur’s hair too tight and sinks his teeth in too deep.

Arthur stops asking Merlin.

Alice eventually tells him, “His mother didn’t handle Merlin’s... “ she goes quiet for a long time, hands rolling cookie dough into roses. “Merlin’s mother raised him alone for 18 years so Balinor could fulfill his dreams without the burden or responsibility of a son. When Balinor found out, he wanted to come home. But Merlin sent her to him. He said he had no time to watch her wither away under the weight of unwanted responsibilities.”

Arthur can’t help the surprised sound he makes.

“Mouse loves his mother, Arthur. Very much. But there’s something rotten inside that boy; something that seeks to devour every good thing in his path.”

“Is that what happened with Gwaine?”

Alice just gives him The Look once more. “Go home, Arthur. Curl up beside him and love him as deep as you can.”

Arthur doesn’t know how her descriptions of their nights are so accurate, but he finds it does not bother him the way he’d expect it to. He also wants to correct her use of the word “love” but he has learned to pick his battles and that isn’t one he wants to fight.

 

\---

 

Worrisnburgh doesn’t do halloween the way Arthur is used to. It’s more of a giant festival than an honoring of the dead. Most of the churches rent out a large field on the outskirts of town and host apple bobbing and cake walks and other amusing carnival games. 

Arthur doesn’t want to go. He isn’t really into face painting or costumes or corn mazes. Gwaine and Merlin give him very little choice, however. Gwaine has been fidgety for a few days, muttering under his breath and watching the skies and counting the winds. Merlin is just perky and excited. More so than Arthur has seen him in weeks. Gwaine and Merlin had wanted to dress up as the knights of the round table, but Percival had already promised Mordred they’d go as batman characters and Leon isn’t willing to undermine Elena’s couples costumes. Morgana and Mithian are going as witches  though, and they somehow rope Arthur into donning a large pointed hat and a cloak with stitched silver stars.

Merlin takes one look at him and laughs, a full belly sound that sparkles in his eyes and rushes in his cheeks. Merlin is dressed as a stripper, and Arthur cannot help but stare at the long miles of legs on display. Despite the heat, he is suddenly grateful for how billowing the stupid cloak is. 

If anyone asked, Arthur would lie right through his crooked teeth about how he enjoys the festival. But Merlin drags him apple bobbing and he watches Merlin hold the red fruit in his plump lips. Face paint is itchy, but Arthur thinks the glittering expanse of stars covering half of Merlin’s face makes it worth it, and though the hay makes him sneeze, he enjoys the opportunity to curl up close to Merlin. If anyone notices Merlin’s wandering hands, they are kind enough to look away with only mild disdain.

“Come, Arthur. Gwaine has a special tradition.” Merlin’s eyes are just a little glassy, though Arthur is unsure why. A sudden, ominous feeling bites him on a soft breeze and he wants nothing more than to take his cake (rum cake, won because Mithian had distracted Morgana for him) and take Merlin home. He cannot explain the feeling of dread, and he wonders if Gwaine’s strange looks feel anything like this. Still, he lets Merlin grab him by the hand as they jump off the hay filled trailer. 

Merlin leads them through the dark woods. How he knows where to step, Arthur is unsure, but he chalks it up to years of experience. Soon enough they break through the woods and Arthur is stunned. He’d know there were small hills around the town, but he had not known about this sudden dip in the landscape.

“The theory is, there used to be a pond or a lake here, but after several years of dry spells it dried up. As the trees grew around it, it blocked some of the rain. Now it only ever floods up during the worst of rain storms.” Leon explains when he sees the boys enter the clearing

Gwaine grins something wicked. “Now it’s protected land, in hopes of preserving flora and fauna and maybe one day being an actual lake again.”

Unease settles in Arthur again, a too heavy blanket tied at his neck. “Are you sure we should be here, then?”

Merlin grips Arthur’s hand so that the bones shift. He glances over at him and frowns. There’s a fear in Merlin’s eyes he cannot place. Not a fear of trouble or of where they are. Not one of Gwaine, building his fire, or Percival who is peeling off his cowl and his chest plate. Merlin trains his eyes on the sliver of moon they can see through the trees instead. Gwaine looks over at them, and then looks up as well. Arthur can see the way he tenses, the way Percival digs his thumbs into his shoulders, the way Leon studies the stars but does not find anything.

A dark skinned male walks over to them. He studies Arthur with an infectious grin. “So you’re Mouse’s new plaything.”

Arthur shrugs. “Guess you could say that. Though I’m not sure who is winning in our cat and mouse game.” 

The guy laughs, a low rumble. He sticks out his hand and when Arthur takes it says, “Im Elyan. Gwen’s brother and local delinquent deputy.”

Arthur snorts. “I’m not quite sure how those words fit together, but I’ll accept it.” 

Elyan just winks at him, and then tugs him and Arthur forward. “You ever had moonshine before?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. Can’t say that I have.” 

Merlin shivers beside him, like he is waking up from a bad dream, and grins at Arthur. His eyes are too bright and his lips stretched too wide to really ease Arthur’s fears and when Gwaine catches sight of it, he too frowns. He says nothing though, just shuffles over to help Percival finish getting the fire he had abandoned started.

“First things first. Arthur did you eat anything at the festival?”

“Uhm, I had a turkey leg and some nachos?”

Percival wrinkles his nose and Gwaine nods. “Strange combination but solid. Mouse?”

Merlin shakes his head. “Just a few bites of an apple.” He winks at Arthur who flushes, knowing that it’s his fault Merlin didn’t finish the fruit.

“Stupid bloody tease, “ he mutters. It was worth it though, to hear that tinkling laughter, that light sound hidden in Merlin come out.

Gwaine frowns, then throws a bag at Merlin. “Here. I was saving the jerky for later, but you’ll need something in your stomach. Besides, we still have s’mores supplies.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes but obeys the silent order and begins snacking on the dried meat. Once the fire is roaring, they gather around it. Gwen and Lancelot arrive, bringing Morgana and Mithian, while Sophia and Elena trail behind. Tristan and Isolde apparently have their own tradition which involves frightening small trick-or-treaters and babysitting Mordred for this event.

Gwaine passes around a mason jar. When it reaches Arthur, he stares at it suspiciously. One whiff of it and his eyes are watering. Percival laughs. Arthur narrows his eyes at them and takes a large swallow of it.

Arthur can’t base it on experience, but if he had to guess he would say it taste about the same as stale urine. He manages to get it down before he sputters and coughs everywhere, the burn of it seeping into every part of him too quickly. His eyes water and his throat aches, and for a moment he really thinks he might vomit.

Someone rubs soothing circles on his back, though he can feel them shaking with laughter. “Slow down Kitty, that stuff is strong. No need to show off.”

He glares at Merlin through his tears ad tries to say something. Merlin simply shrugs and takes the jar so that Arthur doesn’t spill it. Because he can, he smirks at Arthur and takes his own huge sip, only wincing slightly at the burn.

Everyone cackles at the arrogant display, but Merlin passes the mason jar and Arthur carefully lets it slip by him for the next few rounds.

By the end of the night, most everyone is feeling warm and their eyes are glassy. Arthur abandons his friend in the clearing as he leads an extremely drunk and giddy Merlin back to their bed. It's a slow trek, with Merlin latching onto Arthur’s neck every few steps, but they finally manage. 

As they’re laying in bed later, Merlin barely beginning to sober up, he stares deep into Arthur’s eyes. It is strange, because despite the flush still high in his cheek and the smell of moonshine on his breath, it is the clearest he’s seen Merlin’s eyes since that night under the stars. “You’re a good Kitty, Arthur. The best.” He blinks, and looks like he is about to fall asleep. “The stars kissed you.” Merlin kisses him, a slow, burning thing, and then rolls over to sleep.

 

\---

 

On November first, Melin walks out of their room. Arthur vaguely remembers hearing him shuffle about during the night, but he can’t say for sure when that would have been. It isn’t totally unusual for him to walk out during the night, but he usually returns midday, distant and moody but physically next to Arthur.

He doesn’t start to worry until he’s trying to line his eyes in darkening shades of purple and Merlin isn’t there to mock his technique and steal the colors from him to fix it.

He really begins to worry when he has to get Mithian to drive him to RedSun because Merlin never shows up.

He is panicking as he begins the long walk home, deciding it is too late to call Morgana for a ride.

He sleeps fitfully through the night, waking for every creak of a floorboard or groan of a window pane. When he wakes up, Merlin is still not back. He calls him, once, twice, a dozen times. He text him every hour, every thirty minutes, every fifteen. Merlin never responds. Arthur is on edge when he arrives at work wearing Merlin’s favorite teal flannel and matching eyeliner. Gwaine takes one look at him, all alone, and then at his too small flannel. “No Mouse?”

“He’s just gone. He won’t answer my text or my calls and his house is empty.” He is expecting something from Gwaine, like sympathy, or worry, or shock. He isn’t expecting the deep look of sorrow that bleeds into Gwaine’s brown eyes.

Percival walks up, Mordred on his hips. He takes one look at Gwaine’s face and then passes his son off to Gwen who has just stepped off the stage. “Mouse is missing?”

Gwaine nods and disappears a moment to the back room. Tristan and Isolde are celebrating their anniversary, and Gwaine hates asking Leon to double up on shifts, so he ask Leon if Elena or Sophia are available short notice. Leon looks like he is about to refuse for them, but he must see in Gwaine’s eyes what Percival saw. “Mouse?”  

Gwaine nods.  Leon calls his wife, and then Sophia. Arthur isn’t sure what is said, but ten minutes later they’ve made a thirty minute drive and Sophia’s pickup is spitting dust when they whip into a spot.

Gwaine hands the keys to Percival and grips Arthur’s elbow, yanking him out. “C’mon princess. Time to catch a mouse.

 

\---

 

Gwaine drives like the devil is on his tail but Arthur doesn’t ask him to slow down. He has no clue where they are headed, and he cannot find it him to ask or to care. Gwaine drives them through the trails in the pine trees, his pickup probably picking up mud and scrapes like free accessories.

They break into a clearing and Arthur isn’t entirely sure the truck is actually in park when Gwaine rips the keys out and flies to the ground, but it is not his truck and not his problem. He lands with a thud and he’s chasing after Gwaine who stops at a ledge that overlooks a deep ravine. Fear, cold and slimy, slicks its way down Arthur’s spine and he suddenly feels as though he is going to vomit.

Gwaine seems to forget he is there for a moment, his focus trained on the churning waters below.  He sees something, and his whole body crumples with relief.

“He’s safe.”

Arthur scans, trying to see what Gwaine is seeing, but there is nothing there to his eyes. Gwaine grips his elbow and tugs. “C’mon Princess. I know where your mouse is.”

Arthur appreciates the attempt at joviality, but the tremor in his grip gives him away. They only have the moon to guide them along the narrow path, and the water gets loud long before they reach the bottom. Arthur continues to straining his eyes for any sign of Merlin.

It is not until they’re almost on him that he sees the faintest green of a fading glow stick. He is half naked, like he walked out of their room to head to the bathroom and got lost along the way. Gwaine doesn’t move forward though. He just turns towards Arthur. “Be gentle with him, will you? I’ll see you at the top, when he’s ready.”

Arthur has a million questions but Gwaine has already turned away. Instead he settles in next to Merlin and watches the water. They are silent for a long time. Arthur’s thoughts race angrily, in tired circles chasing rabbit trails to nowhere. Merlin barely moves, doesn’t seem to mind the chill of the air or the grit of the ground. Arthur just watches his face for any sign of recognition.

And then, it is like Merlin wakes up from a dream. He blinks slowly several times, and rotates his shoulders. Every movement echoes a hollow pop and when he finally turns towards Arthur he seems so perplexed Arthur can’t help but to reach out to him and pull him in close. He peels off the borrowed flannel first, and wraps it around bat-bone shoulders.

“Where did you go, Mouse?” He whisper into Merlin’s ears.

“The stars were calling me.” Merlin says it matter of factly, like it makes any sense; like it is totally normal for one to be called to a lake near a ravine by the stars.

Arthur nods. “They kept you a long time.”

Merlin frowns. “They went away for a while. I couldn’t find myself again because the stars weren’t there to guide me.”  His frown deepens. “You weren’t there. I couldn’t find your star.” Suddenly Merlin becomes frantic and clings to Arthur, his grip tight as he clambers over Arthur, his knees braced on either side. “Please don’t leave. I’ll make my star stay in my chest, I promise. I won’t let the stars take me away again.”

It makes very little sense to Arthur, but Merlin is near tears and his hands are beginning to bruise where they cling to Arthur’s shoulders.

“Everything was just too much here. All the noise and the people. My head was too full and so the stars promised me the water would clean my thoughts. They said I could come home now, if I wanted to. But I wasn’t ready. I could not take you with me. But I was so absent, Arthur, so very absent in my head. I had to turn myself off for a while. But I am back now, and I will stay. I won’t let my star call me home until we find yours.”

Merlin is sobbing now, great heaving breaths and salty tracks down his cheeks. Arthur can only hold him tightly and stroke his shivering frame.  How long they sit there Arthur cannot decide. All he knows is that the moon shifts and his legs go numb and he is cold. But then Merlin is standing, holding out his hand and he is following. Gwaine says nothing as he crams them both into the truck and drops them off, not at Mithian’s, but at Merlin’s.

They do nothing more than hold each other that night.

 

\---

 

Merlin is back, the next morning. Arthur wakes to find him in the kitchen frying eggs and bread and bacon, whistling what might be an actual song and wearing only Arthur’s shirt. Arthur knows he should savor the moment, just enjoy Merlin here and happy, but last night will not let him go. Merlin seems comfortable here, in this small kitchen with its laminate floor and its canary yellow brushed chrome fridge. 

“Where did you go, Merlin?” Arthur does not miss the way Merlin flinches, a full body contortion. He doesn’t answer, just scoops more butter into the pan. Arthur purses his lips. He steps close, but when Merlin turns his shoulder, Arthur redirects to a wobbly red-oak stool. “Merlin. Why did you leave the bed?”

Merlin scraps the pan somewhat forcefully. “Why are you here, Arthur?”

It is Arthur’s turn to flinch. “What has that to do with anything?”

Merlin places the eggs and toast onto plates and then picks at the bacon. “Why are you here?”

There is something heavy in his voice that settles in the air like lead. It weighs against Arthur’s chest and his vision goes spotty  for just a moment. “I needed to take a break from my life.”

Merlin turns after heaping all the bacon onto the plate. “So you’re going back soon?” He refuses to make eye contact as he breaks the yoke on his eggs and slides toast through it.

Suddenly Arthur is aware that he is standing on a ledge. He isn’t sure how to approach his answer. He doesn’t know how to keep his feet on solid ground.  He carefully reaches for Merlin’s hand. Merlin pulls it back.

“I don’t know, Merlin. When I came here, I only wanted a chance to breathe. A moment away from the responsibility of a life i never asked for. I wanted to drop the weight of a destiny I never wanted.”

“But?”  The question is quiet and Arthur lets it hang in the air. “What happened, Merlin? What made you leave?” 

Merlin sniffs. “You. I heard your father call you.”

Arthur frowns. “My father has called before, Merlin. If you’re worried because he doesn’t approve of you, then you should know better. He doesn’t choose who I-”  Arthur cuts himself off quickly. There are certain confessions he is not ready for. “He doesn’t decide who I spend my time with.”

“You’re going back though. For the holidays.”

Arthur raises his brow. “Well, yes. For a week or so. He is my father, Merlin. And surprising as it seems, Morgana also misses him.”  Misses the money he’ll buy her love with, but it’s close enough.

“What if you go home and you don’t want to come back?” It is said so quiet it takes Arthur a moment to process it. “Merlin, I have another eight months here. And I can extend my stay for as long as I like, if I get my visa renewed. Hell, I could choose to become a citizen or something.”

This time Merlin lets him grip his hand. “The future isn’t written in the stars, Merlin. We don’t know where we will be next week, much less in a year. 

“You’re wrong, about the stars.” It is the single most terrifying sentence Merlin has said, stated so absolutely. So matter of factly.  

Arthur can feel the mood shift, the way the air changes right before an expensive vase crashes to the ground and shatters. Merlin is shattering before him. Arthur is right in the middle of the wave of sharp edges and he has no armor to protect himself with.

He isn’t proud of what he does next. Isn’t proud of the way he settles himself against Merlin’s bare hips, the way he grabs his chin and tilts his head up. Arthur knows that Merlin wields his body like a finely crafted sword. He cuts through the red tape and the anger and the uncomfortable by throwing himself at someone, and thrusting himself into any situation.

This time though, it is Arthur rolling his hips to hard as he claims Merlin’s plump lips. If Merlin is aware of what Arthur is doing, he becomes an accomplice.  

“I will not leave you, Merlin. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not anytime soon if I can help it.”

There are stars in Merlin’s eyes. The faintest golden flickers in evening-blue eyes that burn Arthur, that make his skin tight and his chest heavy.

“Don’t go home. Let Mithian take your seat. Please. Do not leave me here alone.”

It is only November. Arthur has only been in this, thing, with Merlin since August. The time seems too small to encompass all he feels, but he nods and leaves the warmth of Merlin to make some calls. He will not abandon this beautiful, exploding constellation.

 

—-

 

Arthur knows Merlin smokes. He can smell it on him most days. But not once has he ever actually seen him do so outside of their first meeting. It stuns him, when he wakes up to a breeze across his face and he rolls over to see Merlin’s profile lit by the moon. There are little rings floating up above him, and Arthur tries not to disturb him. There is something so soft about Merlin in this lighting. There’s also something erotic in the way he holds the blunt.

Arthur watches him for a long time. Watches the way his cheeks hollow on inhales and the way his eyes flutter shut on exhales. Slow and steady, there is an undeniable rhythm to the inhale exhale. He is unsure how long he stares before he realizes Merlin is still naked. The moon catches on that strange scar when he shifts and Arthur cannot help but blurt out “how did it happen?”

Merlin blinks slowly. It takes him a long time to turns towards Arthur, and when he does, his eyes are glossy, pupils blown wide. “I tried to capture the stars.”

Arthur can’t help the breath he releases. He’s just so tired of the stars stealing Merlin away from him. He thinks the sky is beautiful, when dark, when the moon hides and the only light is what is left over from the fading sun. He is beginning to hate the stars, and it must show on his face.

Merlin abandons the window snuffing out his blunt on the dish Arthur has left for him. “It isn’t so bad! They didn’t mean to drop me.”

Arthur hates Merlin in this moment. He hates the vacant eyes and the strange distance. How Merlin can be here, have his hands curling around Arthur's shoulders, his face too close and still be light years away, he will never know. He pulls Merlin’s hands from his face and pushes him, harder than he meant to, hard enough to knock him off the bed.

It surprises him though, that Merlin only laughs a bitter, hysterical noise. The laughter grows and twist, bubbling out of Merlin, toxic and stifling. He laughs until he is sobbing, and Arthur does not know what to do with it.

“Yes. Like that, the sky dropped me. It wasn’t my time, and they wouldn’t let me come early.” He curls on the floor. “I climbed a bridge. I climbed so very high, to the top of the beam. It wasn’t here, this bridge. I forget where I was. I forget everything from the time I almost caught the stars, except it was cold. So very cold.” 

Arthur feels some of his anger ebb away, leave him like the tide abandoning a beach, but he does not reach out to him. He does not offer Merlin the comfort he knows the male is so desperately seeking.

Merlin tilts his head so he can stare through empty eyes right into Arthur’s soul. “I tried to fly, Kitty. I spread my arms and I lept, but no matter how hard I flapped the stars would not help me. The wind abandoned me. I fell and fell and then the trees caught me. They were not gentle, not kind or warm. They laughed at me, for trying to touch the moon.”

It is quiet for a very long time. Neither male moves, each one caught in a staring match they don’t want to lose. One they can’t afford to win. Outside a frog croaks and crickets chirp but still they stare. Finally though, Merlin stands. He climbs into the bed next to Arthur and then rolls away.

Arthur knows what he is meant to do; knows he should wrap his arms around a bony waist and pull him close, but is scared to touch the man who tries to capture the stars.

Sleep does not come gently that night, two men stretched across the universe and trapped under the same quilt.

 

\---

 

Thanksgiving is apparently a big deal around here. Why, Arthur really isn’t sure, but he’s drug to the RedSun on a Thursday when almost every establishment in Worrinsburgh is closed so that “people can enjoy their families for the holidays.”

The food is pretty good, for the most part, and the company is better. Gwaine and Percival host, letting Mordred scream and run around. The kid is friendly, crawling into everyone’s laps. Lancelot brings a glowing Gwen and Elyan shows up with Sophia on his arm, which is new. Elena and Leon don’t come for the main meal, but they plan to be there later.

Mithian and Morgana take over the bar. Arthur is pretty sure Gwaine is going to have to restock sooner rather than later, and there’s a reason neither girl is allowed to tend for him.

He winces as he sips a cocktail that is more rum than anything else. Most of those gathered around the tables they’ve pulled together already have flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Merlin is probably the only one with any semblance of sobriety left, though Arthur knows thats just because he hasn’t smoked since the early hours of the morning. 

He doesn’t seem to be itching for it though, settled comfortably in Arthur’s laps watching everyone. He picks at a plate of cranberry relish and potatoes, and ignores Arthur’s attempts to feed him something more substantial.

“Your arse is bony, Mouse. It's literally cutting my thighs.” 

Merlin just wiggles in his lap and snorts. “Seems pretty well cushioned to me.”

Arthur snarls and nips at his neck. “You idiot.” 

He misses Merlin’s response as his phone suddenly buzzes against his leg. He frowns, as most everyone who would be calling him is gathered here, or on the way. That means it can really only be his father. He gentle shoves Merlin from his lap and goes to answer it.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

“Yes, I’m aware. I did call you, son. Must you always answer that way?” 

“Spam callers have gotten better at spoofing numbers, Father. Plus, you’ve already called this week. It seemed unlikely you’d call again.”

He can hear Uther heave a great sigh and move some papers around. “Are you still at work? It must be nearly,” he checks his watch and does the math. “Its nearly six o’clock there.”

He can hear more rustling. “Yes. Well, not all of us can relax half way across the world for year. Some of us need to earn the money we spend.”

It's a sharp accusation, but one that Arthur refuses to bend to. “Can I help you, father? I’m currently spending time with some friends.”

Uther coughs. “Yes. That’s actually one of the things I would like to speak to you about. I noticed you haven’t really called anyone here recently. None of your uni friends or guys from the clubs.”

“Yes, well. Long distance calls are expensive, aren’t they?” Arthur winces, annoyed that his father checks his phone bills and frustrated that he even feels guilty. He can’t recall one mate from back home he actually considered a friend, and not a guy he just spent time with so he didn’t feel lonely.

“Yes. Well, you can afford one or two calls to good mates.” The line goes silent for a while, and the only reason Arthur knows it hasn’t been disconnected is because he can hear shuffling papers and the ceramic ting of a teacup landing on a plate.  Finally Uther utters a sigh that makes Arthur feel guilty, even though he wasn't the one to call. 

“Can’t I just miss my children? Morgana hasn’t been here in two years and you left five months ago.”

Guilt curls around Arthur like a cat slinking through his legs. “I’m sorry father. But we did agree I could have a full year here before I had to come back with a decision. And Morgana and Mithian are coming soon.”

“No, we agreed you could have a full year to think about what your decision would be. As far as I can tell all you’ve really done is slum it up with some hicks and get drunk.”

Arthur winces, annoyed. He’d only been drunk twice, and less than sober a handful of times on the weekly phone calls.  

“And have you?”

“Thought about it? A little.”

He can hear Uther scoff. “No Arthur. Have you seriously considered it? Have you gotten this strange urge out of your system?” All Arthur can hear is ‘have you finished exploring yourself and come back to the side I raised you to be on.’ 

“Listen. We agreed you would give me this time. That you wouldn’t push me into anything earlier than June of next year. That was the deal.”

“I know what the deal was. I had lawyers draw up a mock contract.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Then you should know that you cannot pressure me into one decision or the other.”

He isn't there, but he hears the way Uther slams papers down onto the table and he knows what's coming. He cuts him off. “Listen father, I love you. Really I do. But I need this time to figure out if I really want to take over the business for myself, or if it is because that's what you want. And I cannot decide that if you’re constantly breathing down my back. I love you, but I need time away from you.”

“Arthur I-” 

“Look, when I am ready to talk to you, I’ll do it in person. Maybe we’ll talk soon.” When Arthur turns around, he sees Merlin hovering in the doorway, a peculiar look on his face. Arthur just shrugs and rolls his eyes. He leans in to kiss Merlin’s cheek, and drag him back, trying to figure out why Merlin suddenly feels so far away, despite latching onto him like tangled sheets.

He doesn’t get to ask, as Morgana hands him a drink that’s basically straight tequila with a splash of sours and lime. He downs it in one go, and watches Merlin do the same with a shocked look. Most of the rest of the night is a blur.

 

\---

 

Uther surprises them for Christmas. Arthur finds this out when he walks through the doors of the RedSun in a three piece suit with a look of disdain on his face. He is not proud to admit that he panics. He cannot imagine trying to explain a mesh shirt and glittery lilac eyeliner to his father. Before he can duck behind the counter though, Gwaine and Merlin have both caught sight of the obvious stranger. The both whip their heads towards Arthur who flounders and shakes his head frantically.

Merlin studies him a long time, and then his eyes go dark. Arthur is afraid. He knows that look, knows the damage it can cause. He has had several chances to experience the cruel streak that runs through the core of Merlin. That strange, volatile thread that makes itself known in quiet moments. He squares his shoulder and then pauses. He pulls out a tube Arthur recognizes and it makes his stomach clench. He hisses at Merlin, “Please, don’t.”

Merlin just turns away from him and paints his lips a deep gold to match his eyeliner. He sashays, something Arthur has never actually witnessed and in other situations might be turned on by. In this moment he is just horrified. Merlin approaches Uther with fluttering eyes and a pout. “Hello Puppy. Welcome to the RedSun. What’s your poison?” Uther flushes a horrible shade of purple and splutters.

He turns to find anyone to help, to reign in Merlin, but Uther catches sight of him. “Arthur?” If the ground would be so kind as to swallow him, Arthur might begin to pray. “Son. I thought you were working on the peach farm?”

“Orchard.”  Arthur flinches as the word slips out of his mouth, so he rushes to explain. “That was a seasonal job. This is more permanent.”

Uther frowns. “Permanent was not the deal.”  He goes to say something else, and then stops. The purple shade of his face goes red and Arthur takes a step back. Merlin seems unaware as he trails a hand across Uther’s shoulders. “Come, sit a moment. Let me fix you a drink.”

Uther’s shudder could bring down buildings. “Arthur, are you wearing makeup?”

“Just a little eyeliner.”  

Uther’s face contorts violently and then he is stalking forward. He grips Arthur by the collar of his shirt, ripping the thin material. “I will not have my son on display in an establishment such as this.”

Part of him needs to appease Uther, to tell him he won’t dishonor the family. Part of him desperately wants to fight back, to tell his father that there is nothing wrong with this establishment, with this lifestyle.  

Merlin makes the decision for him. He slides up against Uther with fury shining gold in his eyes. “Release him, Pup.”

Uther sneers at Merlin and shoves him away. It is the wrong move, for sure, because Merlin grips Uther’s wrist hard. “Tsk tsk, Puppy.”

Arthur has just seconds to get between them as Merlin brings a fist back. “Merlin, no!”

Uther seems more surprised at Arthur’s actions than Merlins. “I won’t have you cavorting with his kind, son.”  

Arthur frowns.  “And what exactly, is his kind, Father?”

Uther sneers. “You already know that. I’ve entertained your dalliances in the past but I cannot tolerate this any longer. You will come home with me and you will take the job I’ve offered.”

“And if I refuse?” 

Merlin takes the chance to shove his way back in between them. It is a testament to how strange the situation is, that Arthur feels a warmth in his belly when Merlin full body shimmies against his father. For the first time he wonders if Morgana isn’t right and he doesn’t need some sort of professional help. Uther’s face, which had slowly faded from purple suddenly turns a nice cherry red. He shoves his son out of the way, then forced Merlin off of him.

Arthur grips Merlin’s wrist and pulls him back. “Will you please, just please, stop antagonizing my father this way?”

Uther speaks to him as if Merlin isn’t present. “I allow Morgana her dalliances because she is successful. Because she is useful. She has made something of herself, of the company, of the Pendragon name. What have you done, aside from slutting around with back water tramps?”

Arthur watches the shift in Merlin, watches that inky infection bleed into his eyes. He knows, deep in the pit of him, that he needs to stop whatever Merlin is planning, but he can’t. He has not ever known his father to be so viciously cruel to him, and though Uther had not laid a hand on him, he reels back as if he’s been slapped.

Merlin lurches forward like a dog chasing a bone. He grips Uther by the lapels. This time when he shimmys against Uther, it is a full bodied thing that Uther cannot escape from. Long fingers grip hard at Uther’s face and then Merlin is slotting their lips together.

The kiss is erotic in ways Arthur should never have been witness to, and when Uther finally manages to shove Merlin away, the dark haired males face is a mask of emptiness. Uther goes to say something, something dark and wicked, but then he grips his head.

“Oh,” before he can say anything else, Uther falls to the ground, his whole body seizing. The whole bar freezes for just a moment, and then Percival is calling an ambulance and Gwen is calling her brother Elyan.

Arthur turns on Merlin, “What have you done?” 

All he receives is a dead stare.

 

\---

 

Arthur walks in a daze for a while. He remembers going to the hospital. Remembers his father pale and wane, but with a vicious snarl. He’d woken up once. Just long enough to tell Arthur “You are not my son.”

He is sure someone explained what happened to him, certain that he’s had many conversations in the last few days of Uther. He doesn’t remember anything except for the moment Uther had disowned him. He knows that he will still inherit his half, but somehow the money seems bloody, tainted.

In some ways he knows he is unfair, pushing Merlin away in this manner. He thinks he was told that anything could have caused the death. He also knows it was most likely Merlin’s show. Merlin’s need to wreck everyone around him. The rot that has festered in the core of Merlin, curling around everyone he meets in a poisonous, sludge cloak.

He knows it is not truly Merlin’s fault, but that does not stop him from feeling like it is.  He doesn’t speak to Merlin for days, doesn’t let him into his bed.

Merlin walks around in his own daze, eyes grim and mouth taut. Gwaine tries to heal the rift between them, but it is hard to do when he blames Merlin. When he cannot forgive the destruction he trails around like party streamers.

 

\---

 

It is New Year’s before they reconcile. Arthur had to return home to sign the company over to Morgana. To clean out the home he grew up in and bury Uther. December is cold and lonely. Christmas is empty. Arthur gives the staff letters of referral and ask if Morgana wants anything before he sells it all.

What little she wants, a few pictures, an old vase, some paintings from the dining room, he has shipped to Mithian’s home.

He keeps nothing for himself, except for the posters from his childhood bedroom. Everything else he sells, and if he cannot sell, he donates.

He admits to himself, repeatedly, that he is hiding. Hiding from Merlin, from his strange moods and the anger he feels every time he looks into blue eyes. He also applies for an extended visa, a work visa to make what he does there legal, to give himself room to linger in the strange town he’s come to call home.

He figures if he really intends to stay over there, to keep his promise to Merlin he might need a ticket for permanence.

He calls Merlin before his flight back. They don’t speak much, just affirm that Merlin will pick him up from the airport. That Merlin will still be welcomed into his bed.

Merlin greets him with a hand-painted sign and wilting wildflowers. Arthur kisses him, hesitant at first, and then harder, more insistent.

He doesn’t know when he started crying, but Merlin is gentle with him. He holds Arthur for a long time and lets his tears stain a truly atrocious pink hoodie. They stand there for an hour, with Merlin carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair and whispering softly in his ears.

Arthur doesn’t really know what he says, but it doesn’t matter. The dulcet tones of Merlin’s voice lull him into a quiet place in his head. He lets Merlin take him home, lets him wrap him in a warm blanket and fix him overly sweet tea.

They’re staring through the blinds on the window at the stars, when Merlin says “I didn’t mean to.”

Arthur studies the broad shoulders of Orion. “I know.”

“Can you forgive me?”

He finds the belt and the sword, he rolls over and grabs Merlin’s face between his hands. “I would have stuck up for you.”

“You would have left.”

“I love you, Merlin.” 

The surprised gasp that follows breaks something in Arthur and he grips Merlin’s face in his hands, makes him look in Arthur’s eyes. “I love you very much, Merlin. So please, stay present.”

Merlin nods, but Arthur knows the promise cannot be kept. Merlin’s shoulders are nowhere near as broad as Orion’s.  

 

\---

 

Some days, the darkness Alice warned Arthur of comes out in Merlin. He grips Arthur’s jaw between bruising fingers and fear drapes itself around Arthur’s neck like a silver chain two links too short. He hates Merlin in these moments, when his eyes are dead and his grin vicious.

He tries to turn his head away, but Merlin moves fast and suddenly there is smoke clogging up his lungs. He is torn between spitting in Merlin’s face and trying not to gag on the burn of the weed.

Fuck Merlin. Fuck him to hell.

Arthur’s eyes burn, and then his chest, and then his throat and he cannot help the sputtering cough that rips through him.

Merlin laughs, that husky noise that shoots straight through Arthur, and slams his hands into Arthur’s back. “You aren’t supposed to eat it, Arty.”

Arthur knows this. He tries to glare at Merlin through the tears and get his breathing back into some semblance of control. “One also shouldn’t shove it down another’s throat, Merlin.”

Merlin simply shrugs. He leans away from Arthur and drapes himself across the crusty, brown-leather recliner. It has always impressed Arthur, how Merlin could take his large and lanky frame and somehow fit it into the seat while simultaneously taking up as much space as possible. “Sorry?”

He isn’t, but Arthur can feel the beginning edges of the high, settling at the base of his neck, so he chooses to let it slide, this time.

Merlin’s tragedy eyes find his, and something swirls in their dark depths. Like he knows what Arthur is thinking. Like he understands why Arthur lets him get away with this, why he never fights back when Merlin forces the smoke on him. He turns away, unwilling to let the answer cloud his high. Instead he motions for the joint.

Merlin does not offer it up though, instead he inhales deeply. Arthur watches the ease with which he does so, watches the slow fade as it hits, like it is a clear sheet stretching down the long body. 

He snarls, a tiny noise in the back of his throat and lunges.  Here is his answer. Merlin dropping what is left of the joint, not in surprise, but to ready himself. Arthur does the unthinkable. He knows Merlin is expecting him to grip at his shoulders, and shove. Instead he tucks his head low and rams straight into Merlin’s chest. It makes Merlin choke out a ragged cough, and Arthur sits on him, struggling to keep flailing legs pinned.

  
It does not work; it has never worked, trying to keep Merlin pinned to this earth. Merlin swings, acrobatic and flexible and completely impossible, and Arthur is on his back, Merlin stretched the length of him, holding his arms high above his head.

One thrust, one hard grind, that is all it takes. Arthur cannot let Merlin know, not yet, that these are the only times, the only ways he knows to make his body react, these strange wrestling matches. This show of strength.

He loses himself in his attempts to shift the position, and for a moment he breaks free, but then Merlin is at his back. He has Arthur’s hands caught between Arthur’s back and his own chest, one elbow cradling his head. At first his hand is around Merlin’s waist,  holding him still, and for a moment they are caught in this space. This writhing, this struggle for power.  

Merlin breaks the spell first, when his fingers dip to where Arthur’s shirt has ridden up, nails gently scratching through the pale curls there. Lower and lower, and Arthur can feel the heat swirling in his belly, but to lie still would be to break the rules. He takes his chance, thrust his hips into Merlin’s hands even as he rips his arms from between them.

Merlin has no regard for the game though, and he straddles Arthur before he can make his move. Lips, full and warm and chapped, attack Arthur, brushing his cheek, teeth, sharp and firm nipping at his neck, and all the while his hand never slows.

Arthur scrabbles at his back, tries to peel his shirt off without pulling Merlin’s lips from his skin. He cries out, when Merlin lifts his head, though it could be for the cruel twist of his hand, and then he manages to shove at sharp shoulders.

He is on top now, but the game is over, and when he rips Merlins jeans from him, all he can do is pray Merlin is just as starved as he is. If the way he twist cold, cruel fingers in Arthur’s crown of hair, shoves him down so that he gags on Merlin’s length is any indicator, the answer is yes.

What if it isn’t though?

He hasn’t it in him to care as Merlin releases down his throat, then immediately turns and presents himself. His eyes demand Arthur enter him now, and he can only be thankful for Merlin’s insistence to always prep himself, because Arthur’s hands are trembling.

Later, he thinks, there will be time for gentleness, for kind fingers and smooth kisses, and a high shared beneath a blanket, but in this moment, there is only power and giving and taking and too much. Later he will show Merlin how deep his love goes.

When they are done though, Merlin leaves the room without explanation. Arthur thought they were past these tantrums. And he can’t help the rage burning through him as he slips out of sweat-damped sheets to shower alone.

 

\---

 

Valentine’s Day is not a big thing in Worrinsburgh. Not because they don’t love an excuse to party, get drunk, and eat chocolate, but because there really isn’t a nice restaurant. Arthur learns this two days before his “big plans” with Merlin.

“Yeah, most people get reservations out in SidesDale. It’s about an hour away though.” Merlin shrugs, adjusting his tie again. He frowns, undoes it, and begins tying it again when Merlin throws his hands out in frustration.

“How far ahead do people usually get reservations?” He has the knot tied quickly, smooths it down with his hands. Merlin’s  breath only hitches a little.

“Dunno, really. I’ve never done the Valentines thing.” He grins, big and bright at Arthur and swoops in for a kiss. “It's why I’m so excited for whatever you’ve planned!” He unknots his tie. “Okay, show me again. I’ll get it this time.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls Merlin in by the tie. He presses his lips against Merlin’s licking at them. “I don’t mind tying it for you!”

Merlin pushes him away, but he laughs. “I know, but I want to be able to do it myself. I also have valentine plans, you know."

Arthur cocks a brow. “Oh?”

Merlin just waggles his brows at Arthur. “It’s a surprise. Now go call Morgana about whatever it was you needed.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told. As soon as he’s in the other room with he calls Mithian’s house number. Morgana picks it up, and before she can even say hello he’s begging her. “Please, please tell me you have connections somewhere in SideDale and can get me and Merlin reservations at decent place?”

Mithian must be on the phone with her because he hears her wind-chime laugher. Morgana sighs deeply. “Oh Arthur! What, pray tell brother of mine, made you think last minute reservations were okay?”

Arthur growls into the phone. “Morgana. Do I seem like the kind of guy to have had much experience with this holiday to you?” He worries a hand through his hair tugging lightly, a habit he blames Merlin for.

Morgana whispers something to Mithian, which starts a rapid fire back and forth, and then she’s back. “Arthur, dear. We will make some calls but I really worry you’ve waited to late. SidesDale is the place to go for at least three counties. Most people have their reservations made weeks out. You may want to consider a back up plan…” 

He sighs heavily into the phone. “Already working on that one. I might still need your help for it though.”

“Of course. Anything. Mithian and I have decided to just stay home this year.” 

Merlin knocks on the door about that time, and Arthur rushes a good bye. “Everything okay, Kitty?”

Arthur nods but Merlin still eyes him suspiciously. “Lets go love. Your bathroom is too small.”

Merlin just snorts. “You wanted to come see my childhood bedroom, not me.”

Arthur shrugs. He really hadn’t seen much, aside from Merlin’s galaxy bedspread.

 

\---

 

They don’t get reservations for valentine's day. What they do get though, is Arthur dragging Merlin to a specialty farmer’s market and several delicatessens and carefully noting all of the things he takes interest in.

Later he text an extensive list to Mithian and Morgana and places his phone in the bedroom. For the first time in his life, he is thankful the chef his father hired was insistent he learn to cook. He spends most of the morning convincing Merlin he’s ill, and trying not to crack at the distraught look on his lover’s face. “Please, Merlin. Go with Mithian and Morgana. I know it isn’t the Valentine’s  I promised you, but they have some kind of anti-valentines going on. I promise you won’t feel like a third wheel. You can even show them how you’ve learned a windsor knot!”

It takes an hour of cajoling, and one round of blowjobs, but Merlin finally agrees. Arthur thanks every star he knows the name of several he doesn’t.

Mithian and Morgana pick up a morose Merlin. Arthur storms into the kitchen, because he knows he has exactly one hour of the girls aimlessly being “lost” in their three stop-light town and he needs to make the most of it. He isn’t planning anything too complicated. Just chicken breast and heart of palms in a cream sauce, some grilled asparagus, and mashed potatoes.

All of which he can do easily.

Merlin however, apparently has a huge sweet tooth and so Arthur is attempting some molten chocolate monstrosity with cake batter and liquid fudge and layers. He doesn’t hate the cocoa bean, but it is a close thing. 

With ten minutes left, Arthur has everything staying warm in the oven. It’s enough time to shower and change, but only just and he’s just arranging the flowers in a vase, hair still dripping, when he hears the front door open.

“Look Mouse. I’m sorry! I really thought the theater had some kind of special movies going on.”

He can’t hear the reply, but Mithian snorts. “My my. Something smells good.”

Arthur walks into the entrance, where the girls are still hovering, and shoves a vase of wildflowers at Merlin. “But I thought…”

Arthur can feel the blush staining his cheek and his hand shakes a little as he reaches for Merlin’s. “No, I just..”

He glances at the girls, and Morgana gives him a small finger wave. He knows he has taken over their house, but they promised him they were cool with a picnic and making do with a stay-cation in the local bed and breakfast.

They slip out quietly and Arthur pulls Merlin into the dinning room where he’s set up their meal with candles and a wine Mithian gifted them.

“I messed up the reservations. But I know how much you wanted to experience a real Valentine’s Day. And I know how to cook pretty well, so I made dinner for you.”

Merlin’s eyes are shiny with tears and Arthur tries not to panic. “I’m really sorry Merls. I promise I’ll do better next year!”

That makes the tears spill over and Arthur is horrified. He moves quickly to cradle Merlin’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together. “Oh Merlin, I’m soo sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Suddenly Merlin is laughing and planting salty kisses on Arthur’s cheek, his nose, the side of his lips. “You great dolt! These are happy tears! I am just-” He pauses to leave a lingering kiss on Arthur’s lips. “You did all of this for me? And you see us together in a year! I can’t-” he buries his head in Arthur’s neck. “I never dreamed I would get something so wonderful for Valentine’s Day.” 

Arthur laughs, high off relief. “Wait until you taste what I’ve made!”

 

\---

 

Merlin goes missing around Easter. Arthur knows exactly where his body is. It’s in the bed beside him. But the man he wakes up to on April 1st is not his Merlin. It’s not even Mouse.

The man that rolls over and kisses him on the cheek is unrecognizable.

Arthur isn’t entirely unused to these moments, where Merlin steps outside of himself, but this? This is uncharted territory. There is nothing recognizable in him, in the sky-fade of his blue eyes or in the smile he carves into his face. A smile so devoid of warmth Arthur shivers.

He guides Merlin to the kitchen, makes his usual runny eggs and toast and tries to coax him into a cup of truly atrocious sweet-cream coffee. Merlin nods his thanks, but the cup sits between his hands. He doesn’t lift it to his lips once.

Arthur thinks to give him space, for just a moment. “Merlin, I’m going to shower. Will you be okay?”

Merlin blinks several times and stares at a portrait of Mithian in her wedding gown. Arthur is about to ask again when Merlin looks at him, a mechanical turning of the head.  “That’s nice Arthur. I hope you enjoy it.”

He turns his head once more, this time latching onto Morgana’s portrait. Arthur hovers a moment, unsure if leaving Merlin is the right move. He is rarely called by his proper name in the privacy of their borrowed home, but he knows that sometimes Merlin just needs space.

He showers. He cannot say that he is exactly clean, in his rush, but he’s drying his hair and walking into the kitchen shirtless when his heart is cleaved from his chest. Merlin is still sitting sitting in the same position Arthur left him in, coffee untouched and eggs solidifying on the plate.

Arthur hangs the towel around his neck and sits beside him. He grabs one of Merlin's hands, carefully curling his fingers around Merlin’s stiff ones. “Merlin, love. What are you thinking?”

Arthur counts the ticks of the grandfather clock, all the way to sixty-five before Merlin blinks. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Arthur just shakes his head. He stands, and kisses the dark cloud Merlin calls hair. It claws at his heart to do so, but he leaves Merlin still sitting there and goes to what he considered “their” room now to call Gwaine.  

“Hey, mate. I uh- listen. I don’t think Merlin and I are coming in tonight. Something is uhm..” he hesitates and chews his lip until he can taste copper in his mouth. He can hear Gwaine’s shift in breathing. 

“Arthur, pal. Is everything okay?”

Arthur sniffs, just once. “I don’t think so Gwaine. Something is very wrong with Merlin.”

He hears some shuffling in the background, snippets of a conversation he cannot understand, and then Percival is speaking. “Listen, I’m on my way. Tonight shouldn’t be busy, what with Easter. Just stay with him, okay? Watch him.”

“Yeah, ok. Yeah.” Arthur isn’t sure if he even says goodbye before he is back in the room with Merlin, who still has not moved. Arthur grabs one of his hands and begins rubbing patterns into it. He talks to Merlin, rambling nonsense about gardens he remembers from London and how despite his initial fears he rather likes driving Mithian’s old truck but he kind of misses taking the tube places.

He doesn’t hear Percival come in, but then he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Percival is kneeling next to him. Arthur isn’t aware he’s sobbing until Percival quietly hands him a handkerchief.

Percival takes the seat Arthur offers and turns towards Merlin. “Mouse? Can you hear me?”

It takes a while, but slowly Merlin nods. He doesn’t look at Percival though. “Good, that’s good. How you feeling, Mouse?”

Merlin blinks, like the question is beyond his comprehension, but then he tilts his head to one side. “It’s so soft here.”

“Good, that’s good.” Percival repeats himself, carefully draws Merlin to look at him. “Can you tell me where you are, Mouse?”

This he answers quickly. “I’m in the unreal.”

Percival shoots a nervous glance at Arthur, then returns to Merlin. “Okay. Okay that’s... “ He sighs. “Merlin, can you come back?’

Merlin shakes his head vehemently.

Arthur frowns. He doesn’t mean to sound so gruff when he asks “Well, why not?”

The look Percival shoots him says he has failed. Merlin just shifts those blank eyes on him.

Percival motions for Arthur to sit. When he’d begun pacing he is unsure. “Merlin, Arthur just misses you.”

“It’s quiet here. Everything is soft and calm.” Merlin’s voice is small and distant. It’s like he isn’t even speaking to them, but to some creature who has drawn him into this place in his head. “I don’t want to go back. Everything is too much. Their voices are so loud, their expectations so high. It’s lonely there.”

Arthur wipes a tear from Merlin’s face, but it is as if he is a ghost to Merlin. Percival doesn't seem to notice either. “Don’t you miss Arthur?”

Merlin frowns, like he is trying to remember something. One of his hands twitch like it’s attempting to grasp a rope just out of reach. “The North Star? 

Percival nods. “Yeah, yes. Your North Star. Don’t you miss him?”

Merlin nods. “Yes. Yes, but he is so bright. He is blinding.” 

Percival shakes his head. “No, Mouse. He’s just there to guide you back. Listen, can’t you hear him calling for you?”

Arthur grabs Merlin’s other hand and brushes at his cheeks gently. “Merlin, love. Can’t you hear me?’

Merlin starts crying earnestly. “Please, please. You can't keep me from the stars forever, Kitty. You already stopped me once."

Neither Arthur or Percival are sure what he’s begging for, but they power on. Arthur does so with unease in his stomach. “Merlin, won’t you please come back? I miss you.”

Percival speaks softly, reminding Merlin of childhood haunts. Occasionally Arthur will break in with a new memory from an old place, but mostly he just lets Percival talk. He is distracted by Merlin’s confesion, his pleas. He never wants to go back to the creek he found that first night.

They’re there for an hour, before Arthur sees the first spark of life in Merlin’s eyes. Little gold reflections in them, that Arthur has never loved more than this moment.

“That’s it Merlin, follow our voices.”

“C’mon love. Don’t leave me in this big house all by myself.”

Merlin turns towards him, one shaky hand reaching out to stroke at Arthur’s hair. “Hello Kitty.” His voice is still a little distant, but Arthur can’t help but sob and throw his arms around Merlin’s neck. 

Percival leaves them to their moment with a single nod aimed at Arthur. Arthur leads Merlin back to their bed. He tucks them in tight, and lays close to Merlin, who rest his head on Arthur’s chest. His finger taps Arthur’s hip in rhythm with his heartbeat. “I’m sorry I left.”

Arthur kisses the top of his head. “Where did you go, Merls?”

Merlin shudders against him. “Nowhere.”

Arthur doesn’t push the issue. Merlin doesn’t seem all that aware of everything he’s said and Arthur cannot confront it just yet. He needs time, and an approach. He needs to know, when he says it, that he truly can keep the stars from stealing Merlin away. He doesn’t sleep much that night though, constantly waking to make sure that Merlin is here, and real, and present, and absolutely not missing.

 

\---

 

Arthur knows he is hovering. He knows it, because two weeks later Merlin is snarling at him demanding some space. “I am not fragile, Arthur Pendragon. You will let me use the restroom by myself or I will return to my tiny little cot, in my tiny little room.”

As far as threats go, it’s really not very frightening, as Arthur knows Merlin prefers the bed they now share. But he raises his hands and backs out of the bathroom. He even manages to go to the kitchen and sit there, instead of hovering outside the door. He only half hesitates up when he hears the bathroom door close.  
  
When Merlin walks back in, he’s pretending the news is interesting. 

Later, when they have a slow moment at work and Merlin has gone off to do something, stock, or collect trash, Arthur turns on Gwaine and Percival. “What happened?”

Percival shrugs. “He gets like that, sometimes. Though it hadn’t happened that badly in a while.”

“I know he gets, well, funny, sometimes. But that was different. That was terrifying. How do I even help him, if it happens again. How do I make sure I don’t cause it again?” He’s yanking at his hair and Gwaine has to physically remove his hands.  
  
“You didn’t cause it, Princess. It just happens. Sometimes he gets too caught up in his head and he can’t escape.”

Arthur looks at them horrified. “How do I help him though?”

Percival looks at him with eyes too heavy for a young father. “You guide him back. Talk to him, give him a tether to the present.”

Gwaine nods. But Arthur isn’t convinced. “What if I’m not enough. What if he stays there because I can’t be his road back? I don’t..” he chews his lip raw. “I’ve never dealt with this before. I don’t know how to be what he needs.” 

Gwaine smiles at him and leans into Percival. “Oh Princess. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to Mouse. And it terrifies him.”

Percival nods, but lets Gwaine continue. “Don’t you get it? He’s terrified of losing you, of somehow pushing you away. It makes him retreat into himself, makes him ache in a way he cannot handle. He’s so afraid of you leaving him, of him hurting you beyond repair that he feels the need to distance himself. To protect himself before what he considers the inevitable happens.”

Before Arthur can respond, Merlin comes back. He has a crate of liquor in his hands, but it does not prevent him from swooping in to kiss Arthur on the cheek. The crowds start trickling in after that, and Arthur gets lost in the flow of cleaning glasses and wiping the bar.

Later, when they’re curled beneath a slow ticking fan, Arthur kisses Merlin long and languid. He worships his body and tries to press how deeply he feels for him into his hips.

Merlin senses the seriousness and he doesn’t fight when Arthur lays on his side and pulls Merlin close. “I won’t abandon you, Merlin. I’m not leaving. I will be here, every moment you let me.”

Merlin kisses his chest. “I love you, kitty.”

Arthur absolutely does not cry, at the realization that this is the first time Merlin has ever said those words to him. Merlin licks the tears from his face, and with a seriousness Arthur has never witnessed kisses him.   

The moon is high and the stars are bright. They’re almost asleep when Merlin suddenly grips Arthur’s hands tightly. He turns, somewhat annoyed as he’d been so close to dreaming. But there is something in Merlin’s eyes, a sort of blissful weight, that tells him he needs to listen. “I love you very much, Arthur Pendragon. And I will never stop.”

 

\---

 

Gwaine sends Merlin home early on July 4th. Not because they are not busy, but because Merlin is absent again. Arthur understands it, really. Gwaine cannot afford to have drinks spilled or customers snarled at. Or worse, completely ignored. But it puts Arthur in a mood, puts Gwaine in a mood, puts Percival in a mood.

If customers are concerned about the moods of their tenders, they are wise enough to keep quiet and sip their drinks.

Percival at one point disappears with Gwaine. Arthur feels like he should be upset about it, that he should be concerned, but the rush is unending and he is so busy and so focused on keeping liquor pouring and glasses from falling. 

Gwaine comes back, with Percival rubbing circles into his back. Arthur glances at them, and then really looks. He has always known Gwaine to be humor and mirth. But there’s a spooked quality  about him, a fear in his eyes that sends wormy-chills down Arthur’s back.

Percival shakes his head at Arthur and goes to mix a seriously complicated drinks. As he brushes past Arthur he whispers “Later.”

Gwaine doesn’t miss the interaction though and he turns towards Arthur. “Did you hear it?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Hear what?”

Gwaine tries to mix a fruity cocktail but his hand shake so hard most of it ends up on the counter and the floor. “The banshee, Arthur. She’s screaming so loud.”

He places his hands on the counter and tries to steady himself. “She’s been whimpering for a while, but this morning she started screaming. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Arthur turns to Percival. “I am sorry, but I do not understand?”

“Banshees are,” Percival pauses for a long time, weighing his words. “Gwaine knew Will and Merlin all those years ago.”

Gwaine turns towards the crowds. “She screamed then, too. Screamed for days before it happened.”

Arthur is surprised. “And you believe in these kinds of superstitions?”

Gwaine is pale, and when he lifts his hands of the bar he braced himself on, his whole body is wracked with tremors. “Merlin didn’t believe me then either." 

Arthur frowns. “Is that why you sent him home?”

Percival snorts. “No. We sent him home because Gwaine caught him stealing sips.”

Arthur wonders if the shock on his face is as obvious at it feels.”Merlin isn’t much of a drinker anymore, though.”

Gwaine nods. “I know. Which means something is going on.” 

Arthur can still feel the bruises from last night on his hips, and he’s suddenly furious. Furious with Merlin for not talking to him, furious with himself for not noticing.

 

\---

 

Later, Merlin calls him. He doesn’t answer the first time, too angry at him, too focused on the crowds, too busy to reconsider. He doesn’t answer the second time either, but he feels the anger drip off of him in slow, saucy rivulets. He waits, for that third call, waits but it never comes. His voicemail beeps though and he feels panic slowly slugging its way through him as he picks it up, then hesitates. He puts it back into his pocket.

An hour later, when the crowds slow down, he pulls his phone out and presses play. He can’t hear anything at first. He wishes he’d never heard anything once the noise breaks through the phone. The rush of a river, rustle of cloth, drunken mumbles. The whisper are broke and echoing in his ears. His breath stops when he makes out the words “Star in my hands.”

Arthur cannot explain the panic in him, the sense of urgency that he is already too late. Over the phone speaker there's a crash of glass, some muttering, and then a splash. He can hear someone climbing out of the water, and he just knows where Merlin is. He knows the ledge over the ravine, and when the whistle of wind echoes through the phone’s speakers, everything in him rushes out.  

He screams then, and Gwaine whips his head around. The same wild foreboding shines in his eyes and together they abandon the bar, tearing out of the RedSun like the devil himself is on their heels.

Gwaine breaks from their dash only once to stare at Arthur with wide, feral eyes. “I told you I heard the banshee scream.”

When they get to the creek, the one they both knew to run to, pulled by some invisible, cutting thread, it is exactly as they feared and somehow all together worse. Already red and blue lights cut into the darkness and a crowd gathers.

Why the fuck had they run all this way?

He can see the shapes they drag from the bottom of the ravine and before he even sees the red scarf one of them is wringing out. He can’t understand why the bag drips or what they’re doing with the pair of ratty converse. He can’t figure out what is missing, only that it is big. 

He can feel Gwaine pulling him away, yanking him back even as he fights to go forward. Elyan, still dressed in his deputy uniform places strong arms against his chest and pushes him back, back, back.

He sobs and screams and strikes at the men but they do not let him through. When he finally falls to his knees, they let him go. No one tells him anything, but Lancelot offers him a ride to the hospital.

 

\---

 

They search for Merlin for days, and his body for weeks. Nothing turns up. The most that they find was what they had that night. A pair of worn shoes and bright red scarf. Gwaine tells him again and again that it means something. It means nothing.

“The rivers were swollen and moving quickly. It was an hour before anyone even thought to look.” Percival is gentle in his tone, but Arthur cannot stand the pity in their eyes.

“They did not. Find. A body.”

Morgana approaches them. “Boys. Please, take the argument elsewhere?” Mithian grips her wife tightly, chasing the tears with her thumb. “This is not the place for your rage, Arthur.”

He turns on his sister. “Do not tell me where my place is, Morgana. You have never been your father’s daughter. Do not start now.”

Morgana looks as though she has been slapped; Mithian squares her shoulders and pokes a finger into Arthur’s chest. “I get it, Arthur. You’re hurting. You hate that empty wooden box they’re crying over. You believe some miracle has taken place but guess what. This is real life. Magic doesn’t exist and dreams don't come true.” She sobs, just once, before she collects herself. There is a dead look in her eyes. 

Hunith walks over to them, Balinor tagging along. Arthur doesn’t know who called them but he does know if Hunith hugs him one more time he is going to harm something. Someone. He is tired of their pity. Tired of being told to accept it. To move on. When she reaches for him, he draws back and the hurt on her face only tickles at his conscious.

Gwaine puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Maybe you should consider going home, Arthur. Taking some time to heal. Work through this in a place not filled with reminders.”

Arthur moves quickly and grabs Gwaine by his shirt. “This is my home, Gwaine. I will not flee.”

Percival and Lancelot both move quickly, trying to pull Arthur off. Hunith speaks. “We aren’t asking you to flee. We are asking you to heal.”

In that moment, he hates them all. Hates them the way he doesn’t hate Merlin, no matter how hard he tries. He will not explain to them the hole in him. How everything in the world has shifted off balance. The edges aren’t aligning, the sounds are out of tune. All the colors have gone runny and grey. He needs a light in his life. Something he didn’t know he was missing before. But now that he has held the stars in his hands, nothing on earth is enough to fill them.

He breathes deeply for a moment, closes his eyes, counts to ten. When he opens them he raises his empty hands. “I’ll chase the stars until I find him, Gwaine.”

He does not look back as he storms out of the church, looking for the fire that once burned too hot in his chest. Merlin must be out there somewhere, and Arthur will spend the rest of his life searching, if that’s what it takes.


End file.
